


Of Burning Stars on Emerald Rain

by blakesparkles



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Western, Bandits & Outlaws, Blow Jobs, Camping, Deepthroating, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gangs, Gentle Sex, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealousy, Learning with themselves, M/M, Nicknames, Possessive Behavior, Rain, Rimming, Robbery, Scars, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Somnophilia, They're sweet okay, Western AU, YEEEHAAWWW, a lot of sexy times tbh i am aware, carving, crafting, guns and knives, inspired by Red Dead Redemption 2!, not between them, someone has to earn someone here and be nice, theres a cowboy joke somewhere, they are idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-02-28 15:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18759073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesparkles/pseuds/blakesparkles
Summary: The double doors swing open and Jack rests his elbows on the counter. The mister has stopped playing the piano in the end of the bar and everyone’s eyes go straight towards that front door. Marlene comes closer to him, resting against the counter as well, and she curses under her breath. Jack frowns even more, not understanding why everyone shut their mouths, and a man walks into the place.orA story about a boy, a cowboy and their love, in the land of the gun.





	1. A Man, A Bed, A Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! I wanted to write a Western AU since October of last year, after watching Red Dead Redemption 2, but only got to write it a few months ago! I've been working on this for around three months now and it's currently over 40k, but I'm still writing it! I hope everyone likes it! Enjoy! :)

Vincent Town, 1894

  
  


There’s a wooden house slightly crooked to the left.

 

It’s isolated from the others in a little town with ordinary people and it stays up on a small hill. There are flowers and patches of grass around it, bushes and trees on the back garden. The blue paint is peeling off in a few corners and the white in between is dusty, old. A brown-haired man walks inside that house, humming under his breath, and he gets ready for another day. The sun is bright outside, with no clouds, and he prepares a bath for himself. The water is cold and he doesn’t stay there for too long, not wanting to be late for work again. Jack dries himself and gets dressed in a white shirt, with baggy sleeves. Dark brown pants and a vest that has seen better days. He closes the buttons and wears worn out shoes, running a hand through his hair to fix it. Jack eats some cheese and bread before finally leaving his home, patting his hands on his pants and closing the front door. There’s a natural path that he follows, walking on dirt and grass, and the tall trees cast down a beautiful shadow. Sunlight peeks through their leaves and the boy’s skin looks like gold, every now and then.

 

The Irishman sees the town he lives as he goes, waving at folks that pass by and greeting with a smile. Everyone knows everyone, and yet they all have their secrets. There are people already gossiping on a porch, next to the local store, and Jack throws a few coins on a stand before getting a small piece of meat. The salesman nods at him and the boy whistles at a stray dog. He’s black and white, and he runs towards the Irishman like usual, gladly accepting the food. Jack pats him with a smile and he promises to come back later. The brown-haired man steps on a wooden porch, in the middle of town, and he opens the double doors to start working at their saloon. Even though is early morning, there are already a couple of men at some tables, and Jack shakes his head. He says hello to a colleague behind a counter right next to the door, where they keep people’s guns before entering the place. Jack sees his friend, Robin, walking down the stairs and he goes to him.

 

“You’re not late today!” the Swedish man chuckles. “That’s a surprise.”

 

“Hey, I only overslept twice. In a row. Both were an accident!”

 

“Yeah, yeah… Well, we have some Moonshine on the way. I want you to help with that.”

 

“Alright, boss!” Jack grins, raising his hands in the air as if giving up. “Anything you say.”

 

Robin snorts, saying not to call him that, and the boy shrugs. He’s not wrong. The Swedish man is the owner of that place and Jack’s really grateful that his friend wanted his help. The Irishman talks to the ladies that entertain their men, catching up and giggling with them. Marlene fans herself from time to time, and Jack compliments her as usual. She’s a good friend and he knows what’s going on in town through her. They love to gossip. All the girls are slowly getting ready upstairs, taking a bath and putting on makeup, and Jack checks if the rooms are clean. He replaces some sheets and grumbles with one of them about torn fabrics. There’s a chuckle and he sighs, ignoring his flushed cheeks. When the wagon arrives, Jack pays for their booze and brings the boxes inside between huffs. He talks to Robin on his break for lunch, eating behind their counter. Some men go upstairs with their ladies, others just drink and leave. That’s how every day is.

 

It’s only late in the afternoon that the place gets louder, with more people coming in and staying for the night. There’s someone playing the piano now and Jack servers some people with his friends. There are faces he’s not very fond of every night. He has to bat hands away and ignore comments in the air with a light glare to himself. Marlene stays with him, complaining about manners too, and she makes him smile. At some point, there are quick whispers and they hear someone running outside. They yell something that Jack doesn’t quite catch, too distracted with fixing a loose button on his vest, but it’s enough for everyone to shut their mouths. The brown-haired man looks up, knitting his eyebrows at how quiet it is, and there are hooves faintly coming from outside. Someone swears, everyone trying to look through the bar windows without moving, and Robin purses his lips next to him.

 

The double doors swing open and Jack rests his elbows against the counter. The mister has stopped playing the piano in the end of the bar and everyone turns their heads towards that front door. Marlene comes closer to him, resting against the counter as well, and she curses under her breath. Jack frowns even more, not understanding why everyone shut their mouths, and a man walks into the place. He’s wearing all black, with a long sleeved shirt and hat. Black high boots that matches his tight pants. A golden belt and dark vest. There’s a bandana covering half of his face and he’s slender, guns on each side of his waist. The floor creaks with his light move and there’s a gulp in the air. One of the workers there finally breaks the silence, telling the man to keep his weapons by the door just like they always do. There’s a brief pause and the air is tense, so different from before. Everyone is either glaring or looking scared. Jack watches the stranger finally move, taking his weapons out of his holsters. 

 

Once he places them at a counter, the worker organizes them with the rest with trembling hands, and Jack’s blood runs cold when the man pulls his bandana down. He sees a light beard, copper hair and freckles. The more he walks into the bar, the more the boy takes in his details. Green eyes scanning the place, chin up, and a scar on his left eyebrow. Jack’s lips part and he remembers all the stories he’s ever heard about that figure. Whispers shared around a bonfire, rumors that he cut his own tongue and never talks. That his gang ended so many lives, murdering people for no reason other than wanting to have fun and stealing from them. Outlaws, with a heavy bounty on their heads. They bring chaos, wherever they go. The brown-haired man swallows and people slowly start murmuring, returning to their lives, and there’s music back in the place. The man sits down near a window, resting his legs up on the wooden table, and he lights a cigarette between his lips.

 

“It’s the Red Snake,” Jack finally breathes, not being able to take his eyes off that man. “He’s the leader of the Hellbreakers… They’re a fucking legend.”

  
  


“Well, that ain’t sounding much like good news to me,” Marlene says, playing with her blonde locks. Robin sighs, pouring a glass of whiskey for himself. “They were seen nearby and I was hoping they wouldn’t show up, but I guess God didn’t listen.”

 

“What? How do you know that?”

 

“Oh, honey, people talk…”

 

The Irishman purses his lips, exchanging a look with Robin. They live in such a small town, nothing ever happens there. There’s no reason for such a man to be there, let alone a leader of a gang, and they can just hope he leaves soon without causing any trouble. Jack fidgets with the sleeves of his once white shirt, tucked into his pants. He runs a hand through his dark hair and, when the boy’s eyes wander to see that stranger again, he’s already staring back at him. Jack tenses up, but he doesn’t break their gaze, seeing light green in the distance. The man narrows his eyes, taking the cigarette between two fingers, and smoke leaves his lips. The Irishman’s heart beats faster and he doesn’t know if it is for fear or curiosity. Marlene hums and adjusts her red dress, as if calling his attention. Some women try to approach him and Jack just snorts when they all turn around with a huff, rolling their eyes. 

 

The Irishman returns to his routine, then, just helping Robin behind the counter and serving at the tables. It’s the middle of the night and the moon is up in the sky. He talks to everyone he knows, just leaning against a wooden pillar, and he bats more hands away from him that belongs to tipsy men. He keeps glancing at that corner, though, and that stranger seems to be always looking at him first. It makes Jack’s cheeks redden and he clears his throat, choosing to chat with some of laddies of the house. Marlene pinches her cheeks and adjusts her boobs before walking towards that man, her turn to try, and Jack just smiles at her. The girls giggle next to him, opening their fans to hide their grins. However, The Irishman’s face falls when the cowboy just points at the boy with his chin. Marlene turns to him for a second and she speaks, but they can’t hear her from there. Jack’s heart skips a beat and he shakes his head at them, muttering a  _ No. _ Marlene shrugs and the guy glares at her, making a motion with his hand. When she comes back with a knowing look, he just grimaces.

 

“I’m not on the menu anymore,” he says. “You guys know that. I can’t do this again.”

 

“I’m sorry, my darlin’, but he seems to be the stubborn kind… We can’t make him upset, we don’t want any trouble... House orders.”

 

Jack sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, and he just looks at that man with a scowl. It’s not the first time that he’s done that and, apparently, it won’t be the last. They try to be as discreet as possible when it comes to these things, but people know about Robin’s saloon. They had problems before about not having just women, for sure, but they all defend each other there. The girls are always nice to him and Robin, being the owner, protects them with all his power. But there were times that it wasn’t enough and he felt that in his skin. He settled down with just helping his friend and, despite making less money, it was better for him. The Irishman takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a moment and closing his eyes. He knows Marlene is right, though. They don’t want any chaos happening again, but he never thought he would see one of The Hellbreakers like that. Jack swallows hard.

 

“Tell him I’ll be ready in five minutes. Give him the best room.”

 

Marlene nods but she wants him to warn them if something happens. Jack hums and walks up a lance of stairs, looking down at that man for a moment with another sigh. He passes through more ladies and he greets them all, feeling a thin line of anxiety dropping down into his stomach. The Irishman walks into a bathroom, getting some water to wash his face and clean his body as much as he can. He has to strip off his clothes and damp a towel, refreshing himself, and his hands are shaking. The boy tells himself that he has done this before, many times, and that there’s no reason to feel so jittery. Fucking hell. One of them, though. The fucking Red Snake. Really? Why him? He holds back a groan, putting on his clothes once more, and it’s his turn to pinch his cheeks. Jack walks out of the bathroom, knowing where to go, and he stops for a moment in front of a wooden door. He takes a deep breath and straightens himself, smile on his face. The Irishman knocks first before opening the door.

 

The cowboy is standing near a window, seeing part of their night town through a curtain, and he turns his face to look at Jack. The boy lets out a shaky breath and he leans against the wooden door, pressing his lips together. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, to the boy’s left side, and a fireplace on the right. A desk near the man and a closet. Everything is very simple but it’s the best place they have in the house, even with nightstands and a place to clean themselves. They exchange a look and Jack walks up to him, unbuttoning his own vest. The man takes off his hat, ruffling his hair, and the boy sees ginger locks falling down to his forehead. The Irishman stops in front of him, green locked in blue, and his shirt slides down to his shoulders before falling onto the floor. He keeps his head up, but he’s self conscious of all the marks on his body. Jack loosens his pants and pushes everything down, getting naked, and the copper-haired man doesn’t take his eyes off the boy.

 

“What should I call you? You have many names. Red Snake… The Mute,” Jack whispers but the guy doesn’t reply. The boy huffs a nervous smile, trying to pull a conversation. “Are the rumors true, then? Did you cut your own tongue?”

 

The cowboy squints his eyes, a low grunt under his breath, but he opens his mouth. Jack’s eyes widen when seeing a split tongue curl in front of him, just like a snake. The Irishman lets out a small chuckle, liking that, and he leans forward. He wants to go for a kiss but the man stops him, placing a hand over his chest. Alright. Jack’s dealt with that before. Straight to action. Fine. He purses his lips when the man adds pressure over his shoulder and he slowly goes down onto the floor. The Irishman stays on his knees and he unfastens the freckled man’s pants, pushing them down to his thighs. A small content sound leaves his lips, noticing that the guy is half hard already, and there’s a firm grip on his hair that makes him groan. Jack stares at a girthy, long cock in front of him, and he opens his mouth to lick it. He never thought he would be like this, on his knees, pleasuring someone who has blood in his hands. Fuck.

 

Jack sucks the tip of his cock and he bobs his head slowly, up and down. He strokes the man’s shaft, touching his balls, and the boy hums at his taste. The grip tigthens, forcing him to relax his jaw more, and his own cock twitches at that. Jack would be lying if he said that he didn’t like this rough treatment, especially coming from such a dangerous person. It turns him on. Fuck. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea, after all. Jack’s cheeks go hollow, sucking hard, and the man shuffles on his feet. He leans against a wall and thrusts into the boy’s mouth, still being so quiet. There’s just low huffs in the air and the Irishman knits his eyebrows, pulling back to just lick the underside of his cock and look up at him. The ginger-haired man grunts and Jack grins, pecking his shaft and caressing his thighs. The Irishman slides a hand down between his legs, touching himself, and the freckled man fucks his mouth harsher. Jack moans but tries moving back, not wanting to gag. There are more pants in the air and saliva runs down his chin, cock sliding in and out of his pink lips. He shudders when that hand touches his neck, calloused fingers wrapping around his throat, and he moans.

 

He does choke and cough when the freckled man pulls out, grabbing him by the shoulders. Jack stumbles but gets up, face flushed, and the cowboy turns him around before pushing him in bed. The Irishman curses under his breath, falling onto the mattress, and he cleans his mouth. The boy hears shuffling and he looks back to see the man taking off his boots. He pulls Jack by the waist, lifting his ass up in the air, and the Irishman’s consumed by embarrassment. It’s even worse when the cowboy doesn’t even take off the rest of his clothes. Great. He won’t even bother, won’t he? The Irishman glares down at the sheets and there’s a new weight in bed, a warmth behind him. A hand brushes on his back and Jack shivers, aware of all the small scars he has there. Small memories that he wishes to forget. The Irishman’s startled by a finger sliding into his asshole, unwarned, and there’s a snort. The boy flushes all over, ashamed, and he tells himself that it’s been a while.

 

Jack tries turning around but the man doesn’t let him, planting his face into the mattress, and he gasps when being teased. The ginger-haired man doesn’t waste time at all and it almost feels like he’s just checking the boy’s asshole, burying his knuckles deep inside and stretching a little. The Irishman wants to snarl at him and say something that would probably get him into trouble, but all that leaves his mouth is a loud mewl. The cowboy penetrates him with the tip of his cock, slowly pushing into him, and the boy’s eyes fill with tears. His knuckles turn white around the sheets and his nostrils flare, breathing deep while trying to relax. Fuck. It burns and that shouldn’t make his dick harder, but it does. Still, he’ll be sore after this. The freckled man thrusts hard once and the boy chokes, mouth falling open. There’s another one and he tenses up. Nails digging around his waist. He just fucking pounds into Jack, without mercy. Their skin slaps in the room and the boy’s breathing break into shaky moans.

 

“A-Ah, fuck! Oh, god! Nghn...”

 

He’s not supposed to be like that. He needs to shut up. Jack always held back his screams whenever someone fucked him. Whenever someone paid to share a bed. It’s what they do. There’s just this raw and violent feeling coming from this man, though, and it’s messing with him. The freckled man grunts, clothes brushing against Jack’s thighs, and his shaft buries deep inside the boy. Over and over. The Irishman tries supporting himself but every thrust makes him lose balance. He can’t even stay on all fours, rosy ass up in the air while the man ravishes him. Jack pants, wrapping his hands around the bed frame, and his eyes roll back. His cock pulses, bouncing up and down, and he’s leaking precum. The copper-haired man pulls him closer, grumbling when the boy starts lying more in bed, and Jack sobs. His toes curl and the bed hits the wall, mattress creaking with their harsh movements. At this rate, he’s going to fucking cum. They never really bothered with him, only wanting a quick fuck, but this man is hitting every sweet spot. The heat grows and that discomfort from before is left behind, too lost in pleasure. Jack’s glassy eyes are staring at nothing, drooling and shameless mewling.

 

It’s maddening that this guy doesn’t let out a single moan. Either that or the boy is too busy being very loud. He’s trembling, a cheek resting against the sheets, and there’s a weight on his back. The cowboy rests his chest against the Irishman’s back, and only then Jack feels a warm breath against his neck. A hint of tobacco. The man quickens his pace, huffing, and he manages to rip a scream out of Jack. The brown-haired man groans, throat burning, and a hand covers his mouth. His moans are muffled and he grimaces, close to his climax. Fuck. Fuck.  _ Fuck. _ His heart is beating fast and he’s going to cum untouched. Jack’s cock is throbbing, head red and swollen, and he whimpers. He sees strands of copper out of the corner of his eye and the freckled man pants. The Irishman’s thighs and balls tense up, arching his back, and his eyes roll back once more. Jack cums first, hot white strings hitting his stomach, and he shudders violently underneath the man. His hips jerk, wanting more, and he digs his nails into the cowboy’s wrist. He cries out and he’s so high from his orgasm that he can’t bring himself to stop the ginger-haired man from cumming inside of him.

 

The man jizzes hard, filling him up, and Jack feels warm spreading all over him. He has goosebumps and the cowboy’s thrusts turn slow. Deep. The Irishman gasps on each one of them, teary eyes looking down at the sheets, and that hand finally leaves his mouth. There’s a string of saliva on the man’s fingers from Jack’s lips, and he blushes at that. He takes a deep, broken breath and the weight on top of him disappears. The copper-haired man pulls out and the boy hears shuffling in the background. He hates that part. He knows these sounds. Of someone just fixing their clothes and ignoring him. Jack knits his eyebrows, catching his breath, and he slowly pushes himself up with trembling arms. He sits on his knees, on the mattress, and there’s cum trickling down his asshole. He’s flushed from head to toes, hair disheveled. Pink mouth and hazy eyes. The Irishman hears boots on a creaking floor and he sees the cowboy walking towards a side of the bed, fully clothed.

 

He places a small pile of cash on a nightstand and that makes Jack glare, hating to feel used. It’s definitely way more than what he’s used to receive, though. He can tell that from there. He can probably spend the whole week in that room. The cowboy’s holding that black hat in one hand and they exchange a look. The Irishman notices his unsteady breathing and his cheeks are flushed as well, freckles standing out even more. Pupils wide. He runs a hand through his curls, fixing his hair, and he puts on the hat. They’re just panting lightly, looking at each other. Jack opens his mouth to speak but he doesn’t know what to say, so he closes it. His voice would probably break anyways. It’s best not to try anything with someone like him. He’s lucky that he wasn’t hurt. That thought makes his shoulders fall, looking away, and the man purses his lips before turning around, leaving without a word. The sound of the door closing makes Jack huff and he drags a hand over his face, thinking of what the fuck just happened. He slides a hand between his legs, shivering over sensitive skin, and he slides two fingers inside his asshole. When the Irishman looks down, he sees cum on his hand, and he sighs.

 

He’s a fucking mess.

 

Jack groans and falls back in bed, on his stomach. His chest moves up and down with his breathing, and he’s too embarrassed to leave the room right now. Everyone must have heard him. The Irishman rubs his legs together, grimacing at that mess in the sheets, but he has no strength to get up. He hates how empty he feels and he lightly humps the bed, small whimpers falling from his lips. Jack shudders, burying his face into a pillow, and he grunts in frustration. It felt so fucking good but the guy just left. He didn’t say a single word. The boy’s feelings are mixed, not wanting to be used but also loving that warmth. Missing it. He sighs, curling into a ball, and calming down his heart. It’s over now. He won’t have to do this again. Jack entertained one of them. A man with copper hair, freckles on his face and a scar on his left eyebrow. Light green eyes. Split tongue. Stubborn. The boy drifts into sleep, repeating all the names that the man has.

 

The Red Snake. Scarlet Teeth. The Mute.

 

Anti.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting a new chapter every **Wednesday**! I'll leave a space of a week for me this time, so I won't feel so anxious. I couldn't wait for some feedback, though! That can definitely give me a boost to write more hahah. I'm also very aware that there will be a lot of sex in this story, so be ready! It's more heavily focused on that and their feelings. I was very nervous about not having a big plot and not knowing what to do, but then I realized that I just have to have _fun_. So I hope you all like this ride with me, that you guys understand that this is more self-indulgent. I never tried Western before too hahah! I'm trying making a sort of "backwards relationship". Also wanted to practice some darker themes and I'll be warning properly whenever that happens! I'll love to hear your thoughts! See you next week! :D
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	2. The Smell of Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Dubious consent and physical force. Please, proceed with care!**

Jack sleeps throughout that night and he wakes up sore.

 

He grimaces when sitting up in bed, sighing, and he rubs the back of his neck. The Irishman looks out the window without a coherent thought, still groggy from sleep, but the tousled sheets remind him of last night too easily. He flushes and refuses to look down at his body right now. He walks naked in the room, picking up his clothes from the floor, and he gets dressed with a light scowl. It’s early in the morning, sun barely up, and the town is still stirring itself awake. Jack can’t wait to go back home and take a bath. Fuck. He’s exhausted and he rests his forehead against the door for a moment, taking a deep breath. The Irishman does his best to open it quietly but the floor creaks when he walks. He winces when there’s a voice in the air and he sighs when seeing Robin leaning against the bannister. The man’s smoking alone and he turns around to look at Jack with worry in his eyes. They exchange a look and the boy shakes his head, shrugging and not knowing exactly what to say first.

 

“Did he hurt you?”

 

Jack looks down at the saloon, seeing chairs on top of the tables, and he touches the bannister to support himself. What is he supposed to say? That he liked it? That he still feels the man inside him? It was the best sex he’s ever had, and yet so brutal. Jack was scared but he’s not sure if he regrets it. The boy feels the weight of that man’s money on his pocket and he licks his lips before speaking.

 

“I… It was…” he mumbles, voice hoarse, but then he pulls himself together. “He’s fine. He didn’t hurt me.”

 

His friend shuffles on his feet. “Are you sure this is not like b-”

 

“I’m alright, Robin.”

 

Jack wants to ask if that man left town but maybe it’s best not knowing about it. If something bad had happened, Robin would’ve told him anyway. He just really wants to go home and clean himself. The Irishman also doesn’t ask if people heard him. Something about the Swedish man’s look tells him that they did. His friend tells him to have the day off and Jack nods, walking downstairs with a sore body. The brown-haired man leaves the saloon and squints his eyes at sunlight, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look around and that stray dog from before is sleeping in an alley, enjoying the shade. Jack’s not really in the mood for stopping, so the boy makes a mental note of apologizing to him later. The Red Snake seems to not leave his thoughts and he hates that. Why did it have to be him? Jack puffs his cheeks when seeing his house and he happily walks inside, locking the door. He relaxes and strips off his clothes so he can take a bath.

 

The Irishman takes a look of himself in a full-body mirror, with the end of it cracked, and he presses his lips together. There are bruises on his hips, half-moon marks painting his body, and the boy traces them with light fingers. He winces but he’s glad that the man didn’t leave any hickeys. God, Jack’s glad that he refused that kiss now. He would look even worse. It’s best to leave these marks hidden. There’s dried cum between his legs and he drags a hand over his face before entering his bathtub. Jack scrubs his skin as much as he can, bending forward to clean his asshole, and he remembers the freckled man’s fingers inside him. The Irishman bites his inner cheeks and mutters to himself that he’s silly for still thinking of that guy. He was rude, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t even take off his clothes. He just wanted Jack for a quick fuck. The Irishman did what he had to do and he should be glad that it was at least good, so that’s it. No reason to waste time recalling a warm night. It was just another person.

 

It’s not that difficult to rest and Jack tries focusing on nothing, just lying on his bed and dozing off most of the day. He eats alone, feet almost echoing in the house, and he draws random sketches on paper with charcoal to spend time. He embraces the quietness and everything goes back to normal on the next day.

 

Marlene asks if he’s alright and he brushes it off with a smile, just wanting to get back to work. No one mentions anything but there are whispers here and there. Jack hates that. He cleans glasses behind the counter, helping to serve their clients while Robin is upstairs, and one of their long time customer stops by after a while. Jack chats with his old friend, glad to see a good face, and the man grunts through his drinks. He chuckles, saying the brunet turned sour with age. They’re interrupted by a drunk fellow, suddenly asking if the Red Snake had a big cock. The Irishman knits his eyebrows, blood boiling under his skin, and the guy belittles Jack for sleeping with a man. His words are slurred but they still manage to sting, even after all this time. The brown-haired man swallows and glares with flushed cheeks, doing his best to avoid trouble but having to listen to this drunk say terrible names. It’s his old friend that shuts the guy up, threatening to end his life and to get the fuck out of there. His tone of voice is dark and Jack would be terrified if he didn’t know the man. The Irishman sighs, leaning against the counter when they’re left alone.

 

“You didn’t have to save me again, Arthur,” Jack smiles. “You’re getting soft.”

 

“Argh, shut up… I ain’t that fond of what you do, that I know, but damn these assholes. It ain’t none of their business… I thought you had stopped, though. After the...” his friend grumbles, waving a hand while trailing off. “You know.”

 

Jack sighs. “It was a one time thing… He must’ve left already.”

 

Arthur narrows his eyes and the boy pushes his cowboy’s hat up, being playful with his friend. The man shakes his head. “They’re still around. The Hellbreakers must be camping somewhere around here, I’m sure of it. Hidden in the forest for a while.” The Irishman purses his lips, anxiety crawling under his skin. “You be careful, kid… You be damn careful.”

 

“Look at you, being so protective over me,” Jack replies, choosing to lighten the mood. He rests a cheek on a hand and he tugs on the man’s scruffy beard. “Aren’t you, grizzly bear?”

 

The brunet points a finger at the Irishman, saying not to call him that ever again, but it’s an empty threat. Jack giggles and there’s warmth in Arthur’s eyes, even when he complains on his way out. The Irishman is left alone with his thoughts at the counter and he looks down, swallowing and thinking about this. Fuck. If Arthur is right about that gang still being around, that won’t be good. Not at all. He can only hope that no one stops by again and he does his best to get distracted with work throughout the day. Robin still keeps an eye on him but Jack insists that he’s fine and it’s already in the past. However, the brown-haired man can’t help but seek for a blur of red in the middle of the saloon at night. He’s not certain if his sigh is of relief or disappointment. When it’s time to leave work, Jack remembers to feed that stray dog a bit more as an apology and the boy smiles at how fast his tail wags. He looks to the side, seeing their local store, and something catches his eye. There are chocolate bars and candies on display, something rare for them in town, and he walks up to the porch. He touches the glass window, biting his bottom lip. God, he only had those for the first time years ago.

 

Jack could afford it, having that money from before, but he shouldn’t. He needs to save it. The Irishman is fighting back the urge to try it when he hears a whistle from afar. The moon is high up in the sky and their lanterns cast down a shade of orange, illuminating their town. He looks to the other side and he purses his lips when seeing the sheriff calling someone to talk. Jack’s stomach twists, a cold shiver down his back, and he glares at that man crossing his arms and smiling. He doesn’t spare a second glance and just walks away, forgetting the chocolate and wanting to go home.

 

Nothing happens for a whole week and Jack’s starting to think that Arthur was wrong about that gang. Either that or the Red Snake is giving him a false sense of security, which wouldn’t be surprising. The Irishman’s life continues with its routine and it’s a Sunday night at the saloon, full moon outside, and everyone is enjoying their time. He’s upstairs, leaning against the bannister, and he’s humming along to a song being played in the the piano when the double doors open. No one really bothers too much this time around, not wanting to cause any trouble, but Jack’s face falls at the man downstairs. The freckled man takes off his hat, finding the boy and locking their gaze, and the Irishman glares. He taps his fingers on the wooden bannister and the Red Snake keeps staring until Jack huffs, making a motion with his chin so the man can come up. He tells himself that he knows what will happen now anyway, so there’s no reason to worry. Marlene still sends him a look before he enters the room and he sighs, waiting for the man.

 

Jack sits in bed, biting his nails, and he hopes that he was right about the cowboy wanting a second time. What if he just wanted to drink tonight? A small wave of anxiety brushes against his skin, worried that he was wrong, but the door opens after a minute. The ginger-haired man walks in, closing the door, and his boots are the only loud sound in the room. Jack stops biting his nails and follows his moves. He does the same thing as before, placing his hat on a desk, and Jack wants to use his time to learn more about him.

 

“I thought I wouldn’t see you again,” he tries and the cowboy goes towards him, quiet. “You still haven’t told me your name… Is it alright if I call you just Anti? Just Red Snake feels weird.”

 

The freckled man perks up at that, the only sign that he’s actually listening to the boy, but his mouth stays shut. Alright. Anti it is. He talks more, complaining about not having an answer, but the man has none of it. He just grunts and pushes Jack until he falls in bed, and the boy gasps when he’s flipped around. His heart races and he scowls at himself, thinking he’s a fool for wanting something more to come out of this. There’s the sound of the man’s belt in the air and then he pulls the Irishman’s pants down to his thighs. The cold air hits Jack’s skin and he swallows, hating that this thrill turns him on. He stays flat in bed this time and he hears the cowboy jerking off a couple of times. There’s a finger up his ass and he holds back a yelp, not wanting to embarrass himself again. The man works on both of them before spreading the boy’s ass cheeks, adjusting to be on top of him. Jack bites his bottom lip, closing his eyes, and he swallows a groan when Anti penetrates his asshole. Fuck. The man’s slow, waiting for the Irishman to relax, but he buries deep until a weak whimper leaves Jack’s lips. He grabs the sheets, seeking support, and he breathes hard through his nose. Okay. Breathe. Just breathe.

 

Anti places his hands on the boy’s shoulders and Jack waits for what’s to come, knitting his eyebrows. God, is this guy always going to fuck him from behind? The cowboy won’t even bother looking at him. Jack chokes and his knuckles turn white when Anti thrusts once. The man starts fucking him, quickening his pace, and the boy bites his bottom lip hard not to let out a sound. He was being so loud in that first time, being a fucking mess, so he tries to hold back everything that he can. Anti huffs between thrusts, hips jerking forward, and their skin slap. Jack shuffles in bed and his toes curl, heart beating like a drum. Goddamnit. He’s good and that infuriates the boy. The ginger-haired man cups the Irishman’s head and buries his face into the sheets, making him groan. Jack’s grunt is muffled and he tries to breathe, whole body trembling and overwhelmed. It’s only when the boy lets out a moan that Anti releases his grip and he sucks in air, resting his cheek against the covers and drooling there. Ah, fuck. The Irishman’s cock is hard, brushing against his stomach, and there’s just sweet friction that drives him crazy.

 

Jack lifts his hips just enough to slide a hand between his legs and he touches himself, gasping at a strong thrust. There’s something different that makes the boy shiver, sensing anger in the man’s movements. He’s lashing out and there’s a low growl in the air. Jack’s chest hurts from breathing too fast but he’s so close, jerking himself to get something good out of this. The freckled man rolls out the Irishman’s shirt and those calloused hands brushing against his skin brings him to the edge, cumming in a silent moan. Jack spasms in bed, jizz trickling down his fingers, and he rests his forehead on the sheets. When he hears his shirt being torn, he comes down from his high fast and he gasps, immediately looking back with hazy eyes and trying to turn around. Jack sees a glimpse of a knife before the cowboy presses his face back down, not letting him move, and he continues to rip off the boy’s clothes. The Irishman’s heart jumps to his throat and his eyes widen, unwelcome memories kissing his mind. The corners of his eyes burn with tears, hating that sound, and a sob leaves his lips. Anti’s hips go still and he stops, everything suddenly too quiet.

 

There’s a light touch on his waist, almost like a caress, but Jack thinks he’s imagining it. The man slows down and the Irishman feels his cock pulsing, unloading inside him. Anti’s hips jerk, grunting and burying deep while riding his orgasm, and Jack relaxes his grip on the sheets. When the freckled man pulls out, they stay still for a moment, with their chest moving up and down. The Irishman lies on his side and curls into a ball, pushing his pants back up. He covers his face, not caring if there’s cum on his fingers, and he swallows his cry. Jack’s not sure if the cowboy did something bad, though, or if it’s just his mind playing with him again. It was just a bunch of things together that made him feel overwhelmed. He’s flushed all over and he flinches when there’s a hand on his back. He mumbles about not wanting to be touched right now and Anti’s warmth leaves his skin, quietness falling in the room. Jack wipes some tears with his torn sleeve and he doesn’t want to look at the man. He doesn’t want to be seen like this. The bed shifts, a weight leaving the mattress, and he listens to the copper-haired man straightening himself.

 

Jack doesn’t bother to see if the cowboy left money after leaving and he just stays in bed for a little longer. He takes deep breaths and lets out through his mouth, tears coming to a stop. The Irishman sniffs, calming down his heart, and there’s that awful feeling again of being left alone. Used. Jack shakes his head, sitting up, and he looks down at his ruined shirt. He purses his lips and stands up with wobbly legs, adjusting his pants and making a face while walking towards the door. Jack opens it just a little to peek through, and his eyes meet a friend that hasn’t showed up in a while as well.

 

“Ethan,” the Irishman whispers and the brunet turns around, walking up to him. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Hey, you! I could ask you the same thing,” Ethan knits his eyebrows with a grin, eyes looking behind Jack to see tousled sheets. The Irishman flushes, pursing his lips, but there’s sympathy in the young man’s eyes. “I also need some cash… Don’t worry.”

 

The brown-haired man sighs. “It’s… It’s complicated. Uh, do you have a shirt I can borrow? I c-can’t go out like this...”

 

Ethan looks down at Jack, seeing his state, and an _Oh_ falls from his mouth while he nods. The Irishman’s ashamed, knowing his hair is a mess and his eyes are puffy from crying, but he needs that favor right now. He barely has enough clean clothes for himself and this is definitely going to the trash because of the Red Snake. Fantastic. Ethan brings him a new shirt and Jack thanks him, promising that they will catch up tomorrow. The Irishman closes the door, getting dressed with tired eyes, and he notices a small pile of cash on that same nightstand. Jack rolls his eyes, taking it, and he does his best to avoid Robin’s sight when leaving the saloon. He scowls throughout the whole walk and tells himself that he can’t let this keep happening. If that man comes back, Jack needs to show him that it’s not just him in control. The brown-haired man refuses to be hurt again. He won’t allow that. He can’t.

 

Two weeks pass and it rains.

 

Jack touches himself once with the thought of that man above him, panting in his own cold room and throwing his head back, with the sound of rain outside to muffle his moans. His anger washes away with it as time goes by and it’s almost like a curse that the cowboy haven’t left his mind after almost three weeks. They have seen each other only twice, and yet Jack still feels his touches and intent gaze. Whenever he leaves his home, he looks around as if being watched, and he finds himself seeking for emerald eyes in a crowd. It’s an absurd and Jack’s a fool. The Irishman wonders if they left and if those two times were the only moments he’ll have with someone like him. Someone dangerous and wanted. How weird is it that the Red Snake has come across his life? And that he can easily leave? It’s funny to think that Jack may never see him again. It’s like a ghostly memory. He would say that he imagined it all but he remembers bruises on his waist, strong hands pushing him back.

 

It’s a grey morning and Jack forces himself to focus on reality by having some fresh air, standing outside. He’s on their wooden porch, arms crossed against his chest, and he’s leaning against a pillar while staring forward. Rain falls, not as heavy as before, and their street is covered in mud. The smell of rain fills his nostrils, pleasing. Everything is dark and old, wood creaking louder, and people are more quiet than usual because of it. It’s not a busy day, everyone seeking warmth in their homes, and Jack shivers with a light breeze. The rain sound calms him down and he runs a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. When he looks to his left, though, he sees someone on a horse heading towards him. Jack perks up at that and he presses his lips together, realizing it’s that cowboy he so much thinks about. The Red Snake rides a black horse, with long hair on its lower legs, and the man’s hiding his face with a bandana. The Irishman stays still, watching, and he notices that the left paw of the cowboy’s horse is white. He listens to the hooves against mud and Anti stops in front of him.

 

The man’s damp with the rain, drops falling from the edges of his hat, and he gets off his horse to hitch it to a post. The animal neighs deep, shaking its head, and the freckled man pats its neck before walking up to the porch. The floor creaks with the man’s boots and Jack turns to face him with a light frown, lifting his chin to look up. Anti stops inches away from him, pulling his bandana down. He leans against the pillar as well and there’s that cold air hitting the boy’s skin. They’re so close. Jack’s heart does something funny, but he refuses to break their eye contact. They don’t say anything for a while, just green and blue searching for something, and Anti only looks down to seek for something in a bag he’s carrying. There’s a damp curl of copper over his forehead and the Irishman stares at it, biting his bottom lip. The cowboy takes out a chocolate bar and the boy frowns even more when the man places it between them.

 

“Have you been watching me?” Jack whispers and the man shrugs. He bites his inner cheeks to hold back a stupid grin, thinking he was right. “Are you apologizing, cowboy?”

 

There’s just the littlest sign of humor on Anti’s face but it’s gone in a second. He leans the chocolate bar closer and Jack narrows his eyes before raising his hand. The Irishman takes it and their fingers brush, the man’s cold hands making his lips part. He rolls his eyes and murmurs that the cowboy needs to dry himself, so he takes Anti’s hand and pulls him inside. Jack says that they won’t have sex, though, and that he’s doing the man a favor. It’s a pure lie and the cowboy huffs, letting the boy drag him into the saloon. There are very few people, minding their own business, but Robin sees them from the counter. His friend raises his arms in a comic gesture, as if asking what it’s going on, and the Irishman shrugs too. They walk upstairs and he tries not to think too much about their hands entwined, heart skipping a beat. They enter that same room and he tells the man to work on that fireplace while he grabs some towels. Jack really doesn’t know why he’s doing that but the ginger-haired man doesn’t seem annoyed by it. He looks rather amused.

 

The man takes out a flask from his coat pocket and throws some liquid over wood, lighting a cigarette and throwing the match into the fireplace. Jack really can’t believe in this brute man. That’s ridiculous, but at least they have fire. He places the chocolate bar on the nightstand and he walks up to the freckled man, giving him a towel. They lock their gaze and Jack takes a deep breath, feeling a pull between them. Anti takes off his coat and hat, rubbing the back of his neck with the fabric, and he drags one more time from his cigarette before throwing it in the fire as well. The Irishman watches the flames dancing and he seeks warmth, always so cold. They hear the faint rain outside, muffled by the walls, and it’s comfortable. He gasps when there are hands on his waist, sliding down, and he grabs the man’s wrists to stop him. Jack knits his eyebrows and Anti presses himself on the boy’s back, grunting. He’s still cold, clothes damp, and the Irishman shudders. There is a small relief in his heart for seeing the cowboy again, that he can’t deny, but he doesn’t want their previous encounter to repeat.

 

Jack turns around to face him, holding the man’s arms and gently guiding them towards the bed. Anti scowls, sitting down on the mattress, and he doesn’t like it when the Irishman moves to be on his lap. He flips them around in a quick move and Jack curse under his breath, head falling onto a pillow. Okay. Fine! Two can play this fucking game. Anti wants to place him on his stomach, both glaring now, but the Irishman refuses to do so. He bats the man’s hands away and they groan, shuffling in bed. The copper-haired man clicks his tongue, grabbing the boy’s wrist with strength, and Jack’s heart races. He grinds his teeth and hits Anti’s side with a knee, hearing a huff. The cowboy winces, face scrunching up in pain, and the brown-haired man uses that moment to flip them around again, so he can be on top. Jack takes Anti’s wrists and places them over his head, keeping the man in place. They exchange a glare and the boy’s lips quiver with anger.

 

“I may be one of your whores to do whatever you please,” Jack groans. “But at least fuck me _right._ ”

 

Anti stops moving, nostrils flaring but relaxing under the boy, and their ribcages move up and down. Long eyelashes bat against freckled skin and he stares for a moment, licking his lips before opening his mouth.

 

“Fine,” he speaks and Jack’s eyes widen, listening to his voice. It’s rough and deeper than the boy’s. “Show me how to fuck you, then.”

 

The Irishman raises an eyebrow at that challenge and he takes deep breaths, holding the man. Jack slowly leans down until their noses brush and his stomach does something funny. He’s nervous. Unsure if he should be doing that in the first place. He could just walk away but, goddamnit, he can’t stop thinking about the Red Snake. There’s something captivating in his eyes and Jack should know better than to get involved with one of the Hellbreakers. Their lips part and he breathes into that scent of tobacco. Anti turns his face to the side but Jack brushes his lips on the cowboy’s left cheek before planting a soft kiss there. It’s something so odd to do and yet it feels right. The Irishman breathes against his skin and he releases his hold on Anti’s wrists, content that the man stays still nonetheless. Jack pecks his jaw, tugging on his beard, and he moves down to his neck. There’s a grunt in protest but Anti shows more skin and a white scar. The Irishman closes his eyes when brushing his tongue there, tasting him. It’s only light kisses and puffs of air, and his hands rest over the man’s chest.

 

Jack moves just enough to look at Anti and he starts unbuttoning the freckled man’s vest. The boy watches his expression, his scowl, but the man doesn’t stop him. It’s so quiet, both of them not caring about the rain anymore, and there’s only expectation. Curiosity. Jack takes care of Anti’s black shirt as well, revealing his pale skin and freckles, and his lips part at that sight. The brown-haired man caresses his exposed chest and Anti moves his hands to touch the boy’s thighs. He swallows, seeing so many scars, and he’s self-conscious of his own marks. They lock their gaze and there’s a sense of calm in his heart now, thinking that they might not be as different as he thought. There are hidden stories on both of their bodies. His fingers brush on old cuts and bullet wounds, curious about them, and Anti tenses up wherever he touches. The Irishman goes down to his navel, seeing his light happy trail. The cowboy sits up with a sigh, Jack moving with him on his lap, and the boy helps to remove his outfit. He runs his hand on copper hair, liking how soft it is, and Anti rolls up the Irishman’s shirt as well.

 

They quietly undress themselves, stopping every now and then to feel their skin and old bruises. Jack unbuckles the man’s belt and they get rid of their pants, tossing on the floor without a care. He gasps when Anti runs fingers on his back and he sees the freckled man’s cock, both already getting hard. God, he’s gorgeous. Jack takes Anti’s hand and he opens his mouth, wanting to suck on his fingers. The copper-haired man growls and Jack bobs his head with a hum, pulling back with a pop. He guides the cowboy’s hand down so they can touch themselves and Anti wraps his damp fingers around their cocks. They move their wrists together, jerking off, and Jack bites his bottom lip at the feeling. The fireplace sings in the background, casting a faint orange glow on the boy’s back, and he moans when Anti rubs the underside of his cock. The freckled man does it again, making Jack move his hips, and their fingers smear with precum.

 

“A-Ah, yes…” the boy breathes, bringing the man’s hand down to his asshole. “Touch me.”

 

Jack wraps his arms around Anti’s shoulders, lifting his hips, and he grabs copper hair. The cowboy groans, fingering the Irishman, and his breathing picks up. Jack’s heart flutters and he keeps guiding the man, telling him to slow down. Anti is stubborn sometimes, not wanting to be told what to do, but he tugs on the man’s hair until he follows. The Irishman pushes him back down in bed and he holds the freckled man’s cock to take it this time. Anti digs his nails into the boy’s waist, grunting, and Jack swears when being fully stretched. The man’s shaft slides inside and he sits down with a shaky sigh, supporting himself on Anti’s shoulders. He’s the one who moves, riding the copper-haired man, and they both let out a low moan. The  cowboy doesn’t take his eyes off Jack and everything is painfully _slow._ The brown-haired man throws his head back, mewling while moving up and down, and it’s fucking delicious. He has goosebumps and his cock twitches, curving up to his stomach.

 

Anti’s gaze darken, their pupils wide in pleasure, and he watches the boy dance above him. Jack pants and knits his eyebrows, liking how full and warm he is now. It doesn’t hurt and there’s no fear in the back of his mind. He smiles between moans, mumbling about this feeling so good, and Anti thrusts up to match the boy. Jack’s eyes flutter and he leans forward, burying his face in the crook of the man’s neck, and they quicken their pace some more. Their skin slap in the room, a sound so obscene into their ears, but they keep moving. Anti lets out a weak moan, arms wrapping around Jack, and they’re chest-to-chest. Fuck. Their pleasure build up, heat below their navels burning, and the Irishman rests his forehead against the man’s. A breathless laugh falls from his lips and the ginger-haired man looks at him through glassy eyes, mouth ajar. Anti turns them over to be on top and Jack locks his legs around the man’s waist, moaning with a grin.

 

The way the freckled man stares down at him makes him giggle more, saying he looks dumbstruck by all of this. Anti growls and thrusts hard, pounding into the Irishman like before. Jack arches his back, balls tensing up, and the bed frame hits the wall over and over. It’s his turn to dig his nails into Anti’s shoulders and he wails loudly, breathing getting shorter and sharp. He’s so close. So close and yet it’s the cowboy that cums first, shuddering violently on top of him. Anti closes his eyes when releasing inside the boy and Jack watches it all before he follows, jizzing hard onto their stomachs. They pant and still thrust a couple of times, waves of orgasm hitting them, and Anti rests his face in the crook of the Irishman neck. They’re tangled in bed and their hearts beat like a drumming song, feeling pure bliss.

 

“T-That’s… That’s h-how you fuck me,” Jack murmurs, voice hoarse, and Anti moves up just enough to look at him. His hair is a mess, cheeks flushed and freckles standing out even more. Jack bites his bottom lip. “Are you warm now?”

 

The man opens his mouth a couple of times, as if thinking of what to say.

 

“Anti is just fine…”

 

“Oh,” the Irishman whispers, flushing that he also didn’t say his name. “I’m Jack… Well, Seán but… People call me Jack.”

 

“Jack.”

 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, finding it weird that they’re introducing themselves now. “Nice to meet you, Anti.”

 

The cowboy snorts and, when he pulls out, there’s a string of cum between his cock and the boy’s asshole. He stands up and walks in the room naked, running a hand through his hair, and Jack’s smile falls. He sits up, resting his back against the bed frame, and he pulls a leg up to hug himself. Right, he’s stupid. Anti came there to fuck and he still has to pay the boy. Jack shouldn’t feel so riled up about that, knowing the man is only doing the right thing. So why does he feel ashamed when Anti places some money on the nightstand next to him? He glares at the sheets, wanting to hide, and the copper-haired man stays there until the urge to stare up at him is too strong. The Irishman holds his breath, seeing green eyes focused on him, and he takes another look on Anti’s scars that paint his body all over. There’s cum trickling down Jack’s asshole and he swallows, mumbling the first thing that crosses his mind.

 

“It’s still raining… You could st-” He shakes his head, the tip of his ears burning. He knows that the answer will be a no just by the way Anti’s looking at him, but he continues with barely a whisper. “You could have some drink or a bath, I d-don’t know...”

 

Anti clenches his hands a couple of times and turns around, gathering his clothes. Jack holds back a sigh, clearing his throat, and he watches the man gets dressed. His outfit is not completely dry yet, but the cowboy doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. The ginger-haired man puts on his pants and shirt, buckling his belt and glancing at the boy. Jack looks away, seeing that money and chocolate bar together, and he hears more shuffling. There are footsteps and then, Anti’s voice reaches his ears.

 

“I’ll come back.”

 

Jack looks up just in time to see the man open the door, putting on his hat, and he leaves.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for waiting, everyone! I was so happy with the feedback and I hope you guys liked this one too! I know it was a bit mean in some parts but yall gotta trust me! Any warnings you'll like me to add, lemme know! I also couldn't resist sneaking Arthur from RDR2 just for the fun of it hahaha! He's too sweet! See you next Wednesday! ;u;
> 
> Anti's horse breed is a Shire and you can find a reference picture [right here](https://img.equinenow.com/slir/w800/stallions/data/photos/1133820/1490114092/driving-shire-horse.jpg)! The only thing in the picture that it's not right it's the paws! His horse only has one white paw :)  
> 


	3. Picking on Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this chapter is shorter than usual, I'll explain a little more at the end! ;u;

There’s finally a sunny day and Jack’s sitting on a field.

 

He feels the soft breeze moving his thin shirt, black vest hugging his body, and he’s leaning back to stare up at the clouds. Robin and Ethan are with him, also enjoying this moment together, and Jack’s between them. They’re on their break and it’s been more than a week since the boy last saw Anti. He hasn’t figure it out yet if he doesn’t like these long days between them, but he finds himself with hope. The Red Snake said he’d come back and Jack’s taking that as a promise. He told to his friends about the man’s behavior and Robin’s concerned on his behalf. The brown-haired man picks up a flower from the grass and picks on it. Ethan seems as hopeful as he is, thinking that’s exciting.

 

“He gave you a freaking chocolate bar!” Robin complains. “That’s just ridiculous!”

 

“It was a pretty good chocolate…” Jack murmurs.

 

“And you forgave him because of that? Jack, people… People are starting to talk.”

 

The Irishman rolls his eyes and falls onto the grass with a huff, placing his hands over his stomach. He spins the flower on his fingers and stares at the blue sky with a light frown. Ethan says that there must be something more than that, but in reality, Jack really doesn’t know why he let that happened either. Sleeping with one of the Hellbreakers again. He could’ve said no that time. He could. The brown-haired man remembers emerald eyes locked on him, full of mystery and yet with a kiss of loneliness in them. Copper hair. White skin covered in constellations made of freckles and scars. Jack’s heart flutters and he shakes his head, dragging a hand over his face. He rests an arm behind his head, sighing, and he closes his eyes while trying to think.

 

“I don’t know, he’s just...” he says, recalling that rainy day and how close they were on the porch. That hint of a smile, cold fingers brushing together. Jack opens his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I know he doesn’t want to hurt me… Not intentionally, I think. I’m as confused as you are but… He’s just so captivating and mysterious. And, good lord, he’s _so_ good in bed. _Really_ fucking good.”

 

Ethan chuckles. “Tell me more.”

 

“Please, don’t.” Robin snorts, shaking his head and patting Jack’s knee. “Ah, my friend… You certainly have a type.”

 

They tell him to be careful and Jack sighs more, knowing they are right. How come the Irishman seen the man only three times and yet, they boy can’t stop thinking about him? They barely talked. He’s too curious. Robin changes the subject, asking if Jack could be in charge of the place for the rest of the day. His friend has some errands to do that he’s been putting it off for a while now and the Irishman nods. They chat some more then and Ethan mumbles something about grey clouds in the distance, threatening to hide the sun. They all lament that loss but they had a good morning, resting on a field while enjoying some sunlight. They get up with a huff and Jack pats the back of his pants, looking around and seeing their small town nearby. He catches a glimpse of the sheriff and they don’t lose more time staying there, heading towards the saloon. Robin says goodbye and Ethan helps him while the owner is away, like they promised. Marlene and the other girls chat with them, also taking care of the place, and things go smoothly.

 

The day gets darker, those clouds bringing a light rain, but the saloon’s still alive when night falls. Jack stays behind that counter all day, serving and checking on their customers. He leaves for a moment, gathering all their empty bottles in a wooden crate, and he walks to their porch. The Irishman huffs, placing them on a corner and making a mental note for them to order more booze. He rubs the back of his neck and, when he turns around, he stops in his tracks. Anti’s standing in front of the saloon, black horse by the post, and he walks up to the porch just like before. Jack stands still there, breathing shallow, and the man takes off his hat when they are close again. The Irishman’s stomach does something funny and he swallows, staring up at the ginger-haired man. Anti doesn’t say a word and Jack never thought he would feel time stop. That everything would just slow down and he can’t hear a single thing around them. A brief second that feels like an eternity. Jack can only take a deep breath and he forces himself to glances at the saloon, seeing some folks through a window. Some eyes locked on them. The boy flushes.

 

“I…” he whispers, hating himself for being nervous near the man when they’re not in bed. “I’m working tonight.”

 

He’s too self-conscious of his warm breath hitting the man’s face. The orange light coming from the town lanterns is what illuminates their cheeks, making it impossible to hide that blush. He can tell that Anti was smoking before coming there and there’s that rain smell that seems to always follow him. The freckled man doesn’t move, only narrowing his eyes as if asking what does that matter. Jack licks his lips, shuffling on his feet with a half shrug, and the cowboy’s eyes doesn’t miss that move.

 

“I can’t go upstairs with you…” the boy explains more. “Robin’s not here, so I’m in charge.”

 

It takes a good moment but Anti hums deeply, blinking softly. He doesn’t look away from the boy, not even for a second, and Jack holds back shiver when the man speaks.

 

“I can be patient.”

 

Instead, Jack shakes his head and walks back into the saloon, knowing fully well that Anti will follow. The brown-haired man ignores looks and he goes back to the counter, clearing his throat. Anti leaves his guns by the door like usual and he makes his way to an empty stool near Jack, placing his hat there and grabbing a cigarette. The Irishman asks if he wants something to drink and the man nods. It’s a bit odd to have him there. Without them tangled in warm sheets. Jack gives him a glass of moonshine and Anti smokes, relaxed. The cowboy watches the boy work and he finds himself glancing at the man whenever he can. He even suggests if the freckled man wouldn’t want someone else, Ethan’s name falling from his lips, but the cowboy refuses it. He’s pleased that Anti will wait just for him, but he buries that feeling deep down, brushing it off and continue to work in the night. He exchanges a few words with Ethan, the boy just now seeing the Red Snake for the first time, and they giggle with the girls. The brown-haired man rolls his eyes at their comments, cheeks reddening, and he serves some tables.

 

Hours pass and, every time he turns around to look for the man, he’s afraid there will be an empty spot on that corner. But Anti stays, with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. There are barely people left and they’ll be closing soon, so that’s good. Jack’s tired and he mentally congratulates Robin for dealing with this every single day. He’s putting some empty glasses on a tray, cleaning some tables, and he jolts when there’s a slap on his ass. Jack glares, turning his face to see a guy mumbling next to him.

 

“How ‘bout we go somewhere private, kid? These ladies are makin’ me bored…”

 

The Irishman remembers him. His name is Bill and he has seek for Jack a couple of times before. He’s been always a brute, too rough and never caring for the boy. Pushing him until they met a corner. His breath stinks of alcohol and Jack makes a face at how close the man is. The Irishman says a cold _No_ , focusing back on the tray and putting the last glass there, but Bill grabs his arm too fast for the boy to react. Jack gasps, a rush of adrenaline making his heart skip a beat, and the man presses his hand right on his crotch. He murmurs into Jack’s ear, something about making him warm, and the Irishman’s nostrils flare. His whole skin crawls and he shoves the man away with a grunt. The brown-haired man grabs Bill by the shoulders, grinding his teeth, and he kicks the man’s balls. Jack hears him groan loudly and bend over in pain, and he huffs while telling not to touch him ever again. The corners of his eyes burn, angry tears showing up uninvited, and he hates that. He looks over to the side, trying to spot Anti, but then there’s a fist in his face. Jack stumbles backwards with a painful moan, face scrunching up with a throbbing cheek, and he supports himself against a table. The Irishman’s hand comes up to his left side, mouth ajar, and Ethan’s shout remind him that they are all watching by now.

 

There’s a blur and Jack’s heart aches when seeing Anti running towards Bill, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and lifting him off the floor. The cowboy pushes the man back, until he hits a wall, and everyone tenses up. Jack’s eyes widen when Anti puts out his cigarette on the man’s forehead, and there’s a scream in the air. Bill thrashes himself, trying to escape, but the freckled man punches him a couple of times. The hits are loud in the room, heavy and dull, and it takes a moment for Jack to fucking move. He runs towards them and pulls Anti by the shoulder with shaky hands, yelling for him to stop. The ginger-haired man huffs but lets go of Bill, everyone watching the man stumble. There’s blood running down his nose and he walks with wobbly legs, bumping on tables and chairs while apologizing through a broken voice. Jack’s wide eyes stare at Anti and the cowboy’s scowling, watching the man leave. The girls come up to them, asking if he’s okay, and Ethan purses his lips.

 

“He has to leave,” the brunet says. “House’s politics. No fights allowed inside… I’m sorry.”

 

Marlene complains, hands on her hips. “That bastard just hit Jackie! Damn the house rules, young man!”

 

Jack mumbles that Ethan is right and that he doesn’t want to break Robin’s rules. They all sigh and Anti grunts, turning around to leave. Jack’s hand moves to grab the cowboy’s sleeve, without a second thought, and they exchange a look. The Irishman whispers for him to wait outside and the copper-haired man clenches his jaw before nodding. He takes his hat on the way out and Ethan pats Jack’s back, saying he can take care of the rest. The Irishman doesn’t even complain and just goes to grab his thin jacket upstairs with a frown. What the fuck was that? Did Anti just defend him? God, Jack despise men like Bill, thinking they can touch and have anyone they want. The brown-haired man is tired of refusing him by now. Fucking asshole. Part of Jack is happy that he learned a lesson, but seeing Anti acting like that was actually scary. How could he forget that the man is deadly? Violent. A murderer. Jack shakes his head, dressing up in his jacket so he can leave. Anti is giving his horse some food outside, patting it, and the boy can’t believe in this man. It’s so different from what he just saw.

 

“Uh, listen,” Jack whispers, walking up to him, and there’s still a light drizzle. Moon high up. “Thanks for what you did there but I don’t need someone to protect me, alright? And I’m sorry you waited for so long but… To be honest, I don’t think you’ll get something out of me tonight…”

 

There’s that expression again. Anti’s amused. The ginger-haired man looks at him, sighing, and his eyes fall down to Jack’s left cheek. He raises a hand, slowly moving up to the boy’s face, and the Irishman swallows when the man touches him there. It’s aching, soon to be a purple bruise, and there are calloused fingers brushing on that sore skin. It’s not the first time he’s been beaten, nor does he think it’ll be the last. Would the cowboy look at him differently, if he knew how used Jack is to the taste of blood in his mouth? To the sound of a broken bone or split skin? Jack holds back the urge to lean into that tender touch, eyes fluttering down while clearing his throat. Anti takes a deep breath, hand falling back to his side.

 

“Let me take you home, then.”

 

The brown-haired man is taken aback by his words, eyebrows going up, and he glances at that big horse. Anti seems to see the worry in his eyes and just huffs, saying that she’s harmless. Jack smiles a little when he says that, finding out that it’s a mere, and the man tells him to come closer. The Irishman says he’s never done something like that before, staring at that black horse. She’s huge and he has no idea how to get up on that saddle without making a fool of himself.

 

“Put your foot on the stirrup,” Anti guides him.

 

“On the w-what? What’s that?”

 

There’s a snort and the cowboy points at a support on the end of the saddle, putting a hand on Jack’s back. The boy tenses up at that, letting out a shaky breath, but he nods. The Irishman places his foot where the man told him to and he jumps off the ground, tugging on the saddle while Anti holds him by the waist. Jack throws his other leg to the other side and he almost falls, but the man keeps him in place. The boy’s cheeks redden even more, embarrassed, and the cowboy comes up behind him without any trouble. The freckled man’s chest rests against his back and Jack feels his warmth despite this cold weather. Anti clicks his tongue, tugging on his horse’s reins, and the boy gasps when they move. The man’s arms surround him and the Irishman does his best to keep still, getting used to being on a horse. He mumbles where he lives but Anti seems to know where to go and the boy doesn’t question that. It doesn’t surprise him. Jack caresses the animal, admiring her beauty, and they ride slowly.

 

“What’s her name?”

 

“Domino.”

 

Jack huffs with a smile, thinking it’s because of her white left paw. He looks over his shoulder to see Anti and the man’s breathing hits the back of his neck, making him shudder. How come a dangerous man call his horse such an adorable name? Who is this guy?

 

“You surprise me, cowboy,” the Irishman says, biting his bottom lip to hold back a grin.

 

There’s a hum and Anti holds the reins with one hand, wrapping Jack’s waist with the other, and the brown-haired man shivers even more. He sees Anti’s red knuckles from beating up that man and he’s trapped in the cowboy’s embrace, but he doesn’t push away. It’s oddly soothing to have that after what happened and the boy’s shoulders fall, relaxing and just resting his head on Anti’s shoulder. It really does feel like the freckled man is taking his time and they listen to the soft rain falling against the leaves. Light wind making the trees sing. Jack’s cold, clothes too thin and cheek hurting, but Anti only tightens their hold. The copper-haired man pulls his coat so the Irishman can warm himself some more and he asks why he’s doing that. Why is the man being kind? Is he just doing that so he can lie in Jack’s bed as a reward? The Irishman purses his lips, thinking, and they go up a small hill. He sees his house in the end of a muddy road, looking practically abandoned, and he wonders what on Anti’s mind. Jack looks back again, seeing the cowboy’s intent gaze, too distracted. He raises an arm to tug on the freckled man’s beard, fingers lightly brushing on his cheek, and Anti looks down at him.

 

Jack has so many questions on his mind and yet he stays quiet, not wanting to ruin that moment. When they arrive at his home, Domino’s neighs and Anti comes down to help the boy. Jack feels like a kid but the man is patience, catching the boy when he hops off the horse. They huff, noses brushing from being so near, and the tips of the Irishman’s ears burn. Anti doesn’t let go of his waist, his emerald eyes locking on sapphire, and Jack has his arms around the man’s shoulders. It’d be so easy to cup the back of Anti’s head and caress that copper hair. Jack clears his throat, stepping back instead, and their arms fall to their side. He thanks the freckled man for taking him home and, well, for before. Anti tilts his hat as goodbye, getting back on Domino, and Jack hugs himself while watching him leave. He sighs, touching that bruise on his face, and he grimaces. He’s had worse, though. He knows that. It’ll heal. Everything does, eventually. The brown-haired man walks into his house, resting his back against the door, and he’s certain that he’ll see Anti again.

 

And he’s more confused than ever.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Past-Me completely forgot to add more into this chapter and, when I went to edit, I couldn't really fit something else. I like how this one ended and I decided to keep it that way. I promise the next one will be twice as long than this, it was just a goof of mine. Hope you all understand and like it regardless! I'm also trying to get back into writing, so bear with me! :')


	4. Teach Me, Tame Me

They meet every week and it becomes a routine to have Anti fucking him.

 

He rides the man most of the time but the cowboy loses patience halfway, pounding into him until the Irishman is a weak mess in bed. They don’t talk much, only low murmurs to change positions or to hurry up. Sometimes, when Jack’s too busy, Anti will wait for him in the night again. He’ll drink some whiskey or play poker with some folks, keeping an eye on the boy. The freckled man never stays after getting what he wants, though. Jack’s cheek heals from that bruise and he lies in bed, naked and tired, with cum trickling down his asshole. Anti still fucks him from behind every now and then, not pushing too far like before, and the Irishman lets out breathless moans with a racing heart. He drools and his limbs feel heavy, wanting to melt in bed after cumming hard every week. It’s shameful to be left behind and it stings, but part of Jack seeks that warmth and that rough touch. Anti’s fingers will brush against his back or waist from time to time, as if making sure that he’s alright, and the Irishman thinks he’s a fool for liking that.

 

It doesn’t take too long for two months to past and Jack notices more eyes focused on him. People start avoiding him, small town spreading the news too fast, and they don’t greet the boy in the mornings as often as before. Robin’s concern is still very much there but his friends trust the brown-haired man to take care of himself. Anti’s presence seems to shut everyone up and put their heads down, but Jack will always scowl at him before they fall in bed. Sometimes, when he’s too exhausted from work, Anti will tell him to sleep. The first time that happens is so odd and he tries sucking off the cowboy, as if wanting to prove that he could keep going. However, Anti refused it. The copper-haired man stayed until he fell asleep, leaving money on that nightstand on his way out, even though the Irishman didn’t do anything with him. Jack’s even more confused by that man, wanting to figure him out. There’s a sweetness underneath all that bitterness, and the boy is smitten by it.

 

He wants to taste it.

 

It’s the middle of another week and Jack’s at the saloon, walking upstairs to clean some of the rooms. Changing and folding sheets with a sigh. He carries a basket with new fabrics and he remembers that night where a certain cowboy tucked the Irishman in his coat, taking him home. The Red Snake, defending him. Who knew! Jack snorts to himself, finding that ridiculous, and he should be grateful that he’s not dead yet. He walks into that bigger room, the one that they share many times, and he zones out while tidying up the place. He opens a drawer to place clean sheets and he turns around around to pick up that now empty basket. Jack looks up and he gasps, dropping the damn thing on the wooden floor when seeing Anti standing across the room like a creep. The Irishman’s heart jumps into his throat and he puts a hand over his chest.

 

“Jesus fuck, Anti! Don’t do that!” he swears. “How the fuck did you get in here?”

 

“Through the window,” he murmurs, as if it’s an obvious answer.

 

Jack looks next to the man and sighs exasperatedly, knowing that there’s a small porch on the second floor that leads to that bedroom window. Jesus. The ginger-haired man says he wasn’t in the mood to be seen and that it was easier to just show up there. They exchange a look and Jack purses his lips. There’s a brief silence between them and, once the boy calms down, he opens his mouth to whisper.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you until next week…”

 

“You expect me,” Anti hums deeply, walking forward with slow steps.

 

The man stops in front of him and Jack shuffles on his feet, holding back a smile. He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning, and Anti stares at him. His emerald eyes lock on Jack’s left cheek, where that bruise was. Something softens in the man’s expression and the brown-haired man tries to understand that walking mystery. There’s another long silence, just the man looming over him, and the Irishman looks at him funny. He hits the cowboy’s hat with his hand, pushing it down to cover his face, and there’s a huff. Jack lets out a chuckle, calling him silly, and Anti fixes his hat. The freckled man narrows his eyes and the boy looks down at his mouth, biting his own bottom lip. The cowboy grunts, hands coming up to his waist, and Jack’s lips part when he’s slowly guided backwards. Anti gently turns him around, pushing him against a wall, and the boy’s hands wrap around the man’s wrists. There are rough lips brushing against his neck, a tight hold keeping him there, and his eyes flutter. The freckled man’s chest is pressed against his back and he can  _ feel _ the man growling, fingers rolling up the boy’s shirt.

 

Jack lets out a broken breath, trapped in the man’s arms, and he doesn’t stop that like he should. Anti’s warm body is overwhelming and his hand caresses the Irishman’s happy trail, easily sliding into his pants. Jack’s mouth falls open at his touch, hips moving back, and the cowboy ruts slowly against him. They huff and the boy rests his forehead against the wall, arching his back while tightening his hold around Anti’s wrist. He swears under his breath, knees trembling and heart racing. Ah, fuck. Anti’s erection brushes against his ass and Jack moans when the freckled man rubs the underside of his cock. He pants, trying not to bend his knees, and Anti bites his neck hard. The Irishman holds back a cry, tensing up, and he’s pressed even more against the wall. The cowboy jerks him off with long strokes, and it feels so goddamn wonderful. Warm. Raw. When they quicken their pace, he throws his head back to rest on the man’s shoulder and Anti hums. Oh, god.  _ Shit. _ Jack’s almost there. His toes curl and he closes eyes, mewling with an open mouth. Jack’s so lost in pleasure, that he almost doesn’t catch the cowboy’s words. But when he does, he opens his eyes.

 

“W-What did you say?”

 

“Do you share your warmth with others?” Anti breathes into his ear and Jack stops. “Or is it just me?”

 

Ah. The Irishman knits his eyebrows, straightening himself, and he pulls Anti’s hand away from him. He shoves the man with a curse, wanting to move and turn around. A sudden wave of rage hits him and Jack glares, panting with flushed cheeks. Anti mirrors his expression and the brown-haired man shakes his head in disbelief. Shit. He’s that type of guy, isn’t he? Fuck. No. Not this again. His nostrils flare and he comes down from his high, clenching his hands into fists.

 

“Why the  _ fuck _ do you care?! I’m not your private toy! What I do is  _ not _ your fucking business!”

 

Anti frowns, tilting his head a bit to the side, and it takes a moment for him to reply.

 

“I have mo-”

 

“If you say that you have money, so help me god!” the boy snaps and the man closes his mouth. Jesus fucking christ! And to think that he wanted something more out of this! Jack groans, grinding this teeth, and hits the cowboy’s chest. He pushes Anti back and the man raises his arms in the air, as if wanting to stop the boy.  “I want you  _ out!” _

 

“Ja-”

 

_ “Get out!” _

 

The brown-haired man points at the door, heart beating like a drum, and Anti clenches his jaw. He doesn’t give a fuck if they’re both still hard and that the freckled man has glassy eyes, locked on him. There’s precum on Anti’s right hand and Jack looks away, crossing his arms. The copper-haired man says nothing more and just walks towards the door, leaving the room. Jack flinches when the door closes and he puts a hand on his forehead, trying to calm down and ignore his throbbing erection. Fuck. Stupid. He’s so fucking stupid. Of course that Anti would be possessive and try to buy him, like he’s nothing but a thing. Jack doesn’t want that. Not again. He’s starting to think that Robin’s right about him having a type. The Irishman groans, walking with weak legs towards the bed, and he sits down. He waits for his cock to soften, taking deep breaths, and it’s hard to push away the disappointment in his heart. Jack touches his neck, wincing at that sore spot where Anti bit him, and he curses himself for liking it. When he clears his mind, he picks up that basket from the floor and sighs while going back to work.

 

The Red Snake doesn’t show up for the rest of the week.

 

Nor the week after that.

 

It shouldn’t bother Jack but it does, getting used to their encounters. He finds himself worried, jiggling his leg and biting his nails. Robin thinks that’s for the best and Marlene says he’s afraid of losing something. Jack doesn’t get it but she sends him a smile that carries a hidden wisdom. The Irishman tries to distract himself as much as he can, working to his fullest, and he crashes in his bed at the end of the days. His usual routine before Anti comes back and it shouldn’t feel like a big impact, but it is. Jack knows what he did was right, but he didn’t mean for the man to leave for that long. Did he? He purses his lips, walking out of his house to work once again, and the sun is bright in the sky. No rain. Jack stops to pat that stray dog, crouching down, and there are footsteps behind him. His heart skips a beat and he immediately stands up, turning around only to feel regret. A scowl kisses his face, seeing their sheriff, and the man’s smile doesn’t falter. He’s wearing a white suit with a black vest, gold star on his left chest. Light blond hair showing from under his hat. Jack makes a motion to leave but a hand wrapping around his wrist stops him.

 

“Easy there, love,” the sheriff says, voice smooth. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

 

“It’s been working just fine.” Jack tugs his arms, huffing. “Let me go, Felix.”

 

The hand tigthens around his skin and the boy winces, being pulled closer. He looks down, glaring at the ground instead, and he lets out a shaky breath.

 

“Now, now… I’ve heard that you made a new friend, mm? Have you seen him? I would love to have a chat.”

 

Jack tugs more, but the man insists. He looks around, knowing they’re out in the open, and yet everyone seems unaware. He purses his lips. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Now, let me go or I’ll fucking scream.”

 

Felix grins, both knowing that wouldn’t work, and Jack looks everywhere but his eyes. The man hums, letting go of him, and the Irishman walks away even though he wants to run. There’s a shiver down his spine and he refuses to look back, rubbing his wrist with a frown. Fucking asshole. What’s up with these people around him? Jesus, everyone wants something from him and it pisses him off. Jack holds back a groan, walking into the saloon, and Robin raises his eyebrows. It’s hard for the boy to hide his emotions, everything so clear on his face, so his friend says it looks like he sucked on a lemon. The Irishman scowls even more, shaking his head and wanting to forget, and he begins to work. He doesn’t mention Felix all day, holding back the urge to rub his wrist again, and there’s no sight of a certain cowboy. No black horse with a white left paw outside.

 

He goes to the back of the saloon, leaving for a moment after hours of working, and he sits down on grass while watching the sun set. Jack rests his back against their wall and he sighs, seeing trees from afar. There are memories threatening to devour his mind after seeing that sheriff and he doesn’t want that. Anti is already enough of a worry. Is it bad to crave that man’s company? Knowing that it’s the only different thing from his life? God. The boy drags a hand over his face, thinking that he’s really bored, but the fresh air does him well. It’s thankfully a good, calm day at the saloon and Jack doesn’t see Felix anymore. He stays later than usual, tidying up the place and putting away empty plates of food. The Irishman lets Robin know about them needing more booze soon and he says goodbye with a short wave, pushing the double doors and walking out. There are crickets singing in the night and he puts his hands in his pockets, craving his bed.

 

Everyone is either fast asleep already or passed out drunk, so their small town is dead quiet. He walks up a small hill, passing by those beautiful tall trees on his way home, and the stars twinkle in the sky. Jack sighs, finally opening his door and getting inside, and he takes off his thin jacket on the way. The floor creaks and, when he enters his bedroom, he stops in his tracks. The Irishman knits his eyebrows, seeing something on his bed. Jack goes to it and frowns even more when taking it in his hand, looking at it. It’s a wooden piece of the size of a thumb, such a small thing. It’s shaped like a deer, his bust and head with delicate antlers. The boy scans it, tracing with his fingers all over it, and he wonders if that’s carved by hand. It’s beautiful and he has no idea how it got there. Jack’s lips part with a thought, seeing Anti behind his eyelids, and he huffs. Another mystery, it seems. He places the deer on his nightstand, shaking his head, and he goes to wash his face before getting undressed. The Irishman melts in bed, blinking heavily and seeing that figure until he falls asleep.

 

It’s a hand on his shoulder that wakes him up in the middle of the night and he gasps, flinching. Jack’s groggy from sleep, hands going up in the air, and there’s a shush so he won’t scream. He blinks several times and then groans at a familiar silhouette, sitting down next to him in bed. Anti’s looking down at him, as if that’s perfectly normal. Jack grumbles about invasion of privacy and the man not knowing how to knock. The cowboy huffs but it’s too dark to see if he’s smiling. The Irishman cleans his eyes, asking what the hell he’s doing in his house, but the man just shrugs. He sighs, adjusting his head on his pillow still, and he stares. Jack looks at that wooden piece on his nightstand, pursing his lips with a thought.

 

“Were you apologizing again?” he asks, voice hoarse from just waking up, and Anti’s silence is an answer itself. The boy takes a deep breath, watching him through long eyelashes. “You don’t own me, alright? I don’t… I don’t want your money. Don’t pull that shit with me…”

 

Anti nods once and his hand moves up to Jack’s cheek, caressing him there with calloused fingers. The Irishman blinks at him, heart calm, and he slowly sits up. Jack finds Anti’s green eyes in the dim room and he takes off the man’s hat, cupping the back of his neck. He runs his fingers through ginger locks, both not breaking their gaze, and the boy sighs again. Jack pushes the cowboy’s coat away and unbuttons his vest, until there are hands holding his wrists. Anti bumps his nose on the Irishman’s cheek, removing his own belt and boots. They brush their cheeks together and Jack pulls on his shirt, bringing the man in bed with him. The mattress shift with the new weight and Anti’s hands go down to the Irishman’s waist, making him shiver. They get under the covers and the brown-haired man lazily moves his hips, letting the cowboy know that he wants this. Anti ruts against him, both spreading their legs, and he buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck. He moans under his breath, sleep still kissing his mind, and he hugs the freckled man with a hum. It’s warmth and his weight is welcome above him, as if keeping him safe. They move slow, panting into their ears, and Jack slides a hand between their legs to touch the cowboy.

 

He jerks him off a couple of times, precum smearing his fingers, and they adjust better with a long sigh. Anti grunts, biting the Irishman’s neck, and he pushes his cock inside the Irishman with care. Jack gasps, arching his back, and his eyes flutter at the feeling. They move together, mewling and letting out hot puffs of air in the night, and the mattress shuffles. It’s different from their other times. Much slower and gentle. Anti rests his forehead against Jack’s and the brown-haired man stares at his lips through glassy eyes. They never kissed and the thought of doing that crosses his mind. But he doesn’t dare, not quite. He only whispers for Anti to open his mouth and the freckled man knits his eyebrows. Jack promises he won’t kiss him. The cowboy thrusts deep, clenching his jaw before relaxing and doing what he’s told. The Irishman brushes a finger on the man’s lips, seeing his split tongue, and he leans in just enough to pant into the cowboy’s mouth. It’s not a kiss but it’s the closest they’ve had from one. Mouths lightly brushing, barely there, and warm breath filling their lungs. Jack moans and Anti tilts his head, moving more and listening to him sing. He holds back the urge to roll out his tongue and lick the copper-haired man, closing his eyes in pleasure.

 

Anti cums first, jerking his hips and jizzing inside of him, and Jack shudders when reaching his own orgasm. Their breathing breaks into mewls, spasming, and the Irishman gasps when the cowboy sucks on his neck. It’s not good to have visible marks and he should stop the man, but Anti never tried doing something like that before. It feels  _ so _ good, his split tongue lapping on his skin and teeth biting him there. Jack lets out a broken moan, hugging him more, and the freckled man growls while planting a hickey on his neck. He touches the man’s scars on his back and Anti pulls out with a sigh, crashing next to him with a heavy pant. Their chests move up and down, and Jack drags a hand over his face. There’s that familiar feeling again, in the pit of Jack’s stomach, that he can’t never quite name it. He knows that Anti will leave and it’s a mix of disappointment with sorrow. It’s bitter and lonely. Cold. He rubs his eye, tired and wanting to sleep, so he turns around to face his wall while pulling the covers up. Jack buries his face into his pillow, calming down his heart, and he doesn’t wait awake for the cowboy to leave.

 

When morning comes, birds chirp outside, and he stirs himself awake with a deep breath. Jack stretches a bit, turning around with half-lidded eyes, only to see Anti still there. His heart skips a beat, holding his breath for a second, and his lips part at the sight. The man is fast asleep, mouth ajar, and his hair is disheveled. Copper curls all over his forehead and long eyelashes resting against freckled skin. It’s like having a lion trapping him in place, not wanting to disturb such a dangerous thing even with a breath. Jack bites his bottom lip, watching the sleeping figure. He never saw Anti like that and it’s so vulnerable. He looks so calm, ribcage rising slowly, and the Irishman keeps that in his memory. Soft morning light bathes the room through the curtain gaps, from a window next to his bed, and for once he doesn’t want to hurry for work. Jack can only keep himself together for so long, giving up and raising a hand to rest on the man’s cheek, lightly caressing him there. Anti sighs, waking up, and he lazily opens his eyes to meet the boy’s. It’s so peaceful and they exchange a look. The freckled man cups Jack’s hand, shutting his eyes again, and he leans into the touch.

 

The Irishman smiles when Anti buries his nose into his hand, brushing his lips there, and his heart does something funny. The cowboy knits his eyebrows, as if just now fully waking up, and he swears under his breath while sitting up. Jack purses his lips, missing that contact, and Anti bends over to gather his clothes from the floor. The Irishman watches him get dressed, losing that warmth in bed. The copper-haired man puts on his shirt and vest, taking his guns and coat with sleepy eyes. He stumbles once, trying to put on his boots, and Jack snorts. The man glares from over his shoulder and the Irishman chuckles, finding it funny that he’s clumsy and groggy. His smile fades when Anti’s ready and he sits up, covers sliding down to his waist. The man looks at that carved piece by the night stand before gazing at Jack, bumping his fingers on the boy’s chin.

 

“Don’t lose it.”

 

Jack huffs. “I won’t, cowboy.”

 

Anti tugs on his beard, hand falling back to his side, and he turns around to leave the room. The Irishman watches his back and, despite not liking that the man left so soon, it was nice to see him in the morning like that. The loneliness is not as crushing as before and he holds that deer to play with it in his hands, imagining the cowboy carving it. There’s a light feeling in his heart and he stretches in bed, knowing he needs to take a bath soon. He gets up, getting read for another day, and he cleans himself remembering last night. Jack looks at himself in a small mirror, seeing a hickey on the right side of his neck. Red, almost purple-like, marking his skin. He flushes, drying himself, and he buttons up his shirt all the way. Jack fries some eggs and eats it with pieces of bread while drinking coffee, only then leaving for work. His mind is everywhere, recalling their mouths close together and thinking how bad he wanted to kiss that man. Jack moves without paying much attention to his surroundings, knowing what to do in the saloon, and it’s Ethan that calls him out upstairs.

 

“Why are you smiling about?” he asks and the Irishman looks up in alarm, holding a basket with sheets. He mumbles that is nothing and Ethan gasps with a huge grin, pulling down the boy’s collar to see that hickey. “Did you meet someone? Who was it?  _ How  _ was it? Tell me everything!”

 

“N-No,” Jack flushes more, fixing his shirt, and then he sighs. “It was Anti again… He showed up at my place.”

 

“What? But he nev-”

 

“I know.”

 

“Huh.”

 

The Irishman doesn’t know how it is possible for Ethan’s smile to get even bigger and the brunet wiggles his eyebrows, suggesting something more and making Jack’s face hot. He shakes his head, telling his friend that it’s nothing like that. That the cowboy just got carried away. It’s just a hickey and he probably wanted to make the Irishman feel good, after screwing things up with that stupid question. Ethan giggles and he makes the boy grin with him, both gossiping. It’s silly, but Jack lets himself joke around with his friend for a little bit. Marlene joins them at some point and her comments make the tips of his ears burn, embarrassed with them. It’s a good day and he starts bringing that wooden piece in his pocket, to hold it whenever things get too stressful. It’s something to remind him that Anti’s real too, that he really comes over in time to time. Jack goes on, a couple of days passing, and nothing much happens. It’s quiet and boring, with only a memory and a fading mark on his neck.

 

It’s at one night, when he’s coming back home, that he hears a noise.

 

Jack’s holding that small deer in hands, too distracted on his own path, and he looks to the side. He sees trees in the dark, under the moonlight, and some bushes move from afar. The Irishman narrows his eyes and he wonders if it’s the cowboy trying to sneak into his home once again. His name falls from Jack’s lips, a question if he’s there, and the boy steps towards the sounds. He hears a horse and thinks it’s Domino, seeking in the dark without thinking. When he opens his mouth to speak, no sound comes out but a groan, feeling a hard pang on the back of his head. He falls onto his knees, piece slipping off his fingers, and there are hands pulling his arms back. The Irishman’s heart races and he shouts, thrashing himself until there’s a gag to keep his mouth shut. Oh, fuck. No, no, no. What is happening?! His arms and legs are tied up and there are men talking, a hoodie over his head. Fuck. Everything is dark and he keeps squirming, screams muffled while he’s picked up. Someone carries him over their shoulder and his nostrils flare, kicking his legs as much as he can. There are complains in the air and a huff. Jack’s heart is beating a mile a minute and he can’t believe that he’s being taken away. They place him over something and he groans, lying on his stomach and trying to listen. He gasps when it moves, realizing they’re on a horse, and he bounces at their movements. Jack shuffles, tugging on the ropes, but it’s in vain. He gets nauseous on the horse, stomach being pressed too much, and he’s so stupid for thinking it was Anti.

 

It’s a relief when they fucking stop and he falls onto the floor with a grunt, disoriented. When they remove his black hoodie, Jack sees four men looking down at him with a scowl. The Irishman glares, words muffled with the gag, and the moonlight cast down on them. One of the cowboys waves a gun at him, telling them to take off the damn thing. An asshole crouches down in front of him, pulling the gag down, and Jack leans forward fast to bite on the man’s hand. He yells, kicking the boy until he lets go, and there’s laughter in the air. Jack spits towards them, blood boiling.

 

“He’s a feisty one, ain’t he?” the middle one chuckles, hands on his hips. “C’mon, boy. Where’s the Red Snake? Just spit it out and we’ll be off our way.”

 

“I don’t know shit!” Jack groans loudly, looking up at them with anger. “Let me go, you fuckers! What the fuck do you want from me?!”

 

The cowboy nods, pursing his lips, and he makes a motion for the rest of them. The Irishman’s eyebrows go up and he tries getting up when they wrap a goddamn noose around his neck. He screams for them to stop, that he doesn’t know anything, and they drag him on grass towards a tree in a huge field. Jack chokes, rope coming up to his throat, and they throw the it over a branch to lift him off the ground. The Irishman’s chest hurts from breathing too fast and he’s shaking, thinking he’s going to fucking die like that. The guy tells him that he’ll stay there until the Red Snake shows up or the boy opens his mouth, and Jack groans as an answer. What do they want? Who are they? Bounty hunters? Jesus fuck! His feet leave the ground and it’s  _ so  _ fucking hard to breathe, face turning red and veins pulsing into his ears. Someone places a goddamn bucket underneath him and he squirms, gasping for air when he finds a balance there with the tip of his feet. He coughs, rope still tight but not choking him to death anymore. They stare at him, nodding and grinning, and the Irishman shakes his head.

 

“H-He won’t…” he coughs more, voice hoarse. “He won’t s-show up, assholes! I don’t know a-anything! I d-don’t know him! I’m no o-one!”

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

The Irishman lets out a broken grunt, watching them turn their backs and go to their horses. There’s nothing around them, only mountains and this field, and they simply ride away. A thin line of anxiety falls into his stomach, realization hitting him. Jesus fucking christ. He’s hanging up on a tree, in the middle of the night, with no way to get out. They’ll probably be watching from afar, waiting for something to happen. He doesn’t see Anti in a while and they only fuck. He knows  _ nothing  _ about that man. He wouldn’t be able to say anything, even if he wanted to! There’s no reason for these cowboys to seek for him and, now, he’s going to die because of that. Jack’s pissed at himself for being taken so easily. Stupid. Running after Anti. The Irishman swallows, throat hurting, and he can’t relax at all without the rope tugging on his skin. He grimaces, thinking that Robin was right about him getting into something that he shouldn’t, and it feels like that night will be long. Jack hopes that they realize he has nothing to do with that man and that they’ll set him free. It’s the only thing he can think of, balancing on that bucket.

 

It’s a torture.

 

Hours pass and the brown-haired man uses all his strength to be still, skin burning from the ropes and sweating from fear. Jack’s eyes fill with tears but he refuses to let them fall, swallowing down a scream and keeping his feet straight. The moon is a witness of what’s happening to him and the stars shine above him, tree leaves singing with the wind. He’s exposed and cold, with tired eyes and sore body. Jack’s foot almost slips once and he gags, wondering how much longer he can take. There’s a loud bang echoing in the air and he gasps, looking up to see those men shouting on top of a hill. Another sharp bang and Jack’s heart skips into his throat. Someone shoots the bucket away and the Irishman falls more, noose choking him under the tree. His face turns red once more, veins popping, and it feels like his heart will burst in his chest. Oh, god. Fuck.  _ Fuck! _ Jack convulses, eyes rolling back, and there are heavy hooves from afar. It gets closer and closer, more shooting around him. Breathe. He needs to breathe. He can’t. He can’t. He fucking  _ can’t. _

 

The rope snaps and he passes out before reaching the ground.

 

 

 

 


	5. Mend My Broken Heart

Jack groans, slowly opening his eyes.

 

The first thing that crosses the boy’s hazy mind is that he has a fucking headache. He moves to lie on his back with another broken groan and he knits his eyebrows. The Irishman blinks, staring at a light brown fabric above him, and it’s thin enough for him to see soft sunlight kissing through it. Jack looks around, realizing he’s inside a small tent, lying on a couple of blankets. He sits up with a sigh, dragging a hand over his face, and he cleans his eyes. Jack’s neck is sore, body heavy. Shit, at least he’s fucking alive. He doesn’t remember how he got there. The brown-haired man swallows, worried as to what he’ll find outside that tent. Did those men capture him? Did they change their minds? What was even happening in that night? He lets out a shaky breath, moving to get closer to the tent’s opening, and he tries seeing something through a gap but it’s in vain.

 

Jack touches the fabric, slowly crawling out, and he winces at the morning light. He puts a hand in front of his face, narrowing his eyes, and he stands up. The Irishman blinks, getting used to the light, and his arm falls down when seeing a familiar face in front of him. Anti’s sitting down on the ground, resting his back against a log. He’s smoking a cigarette and there’s a fire in front of him. Jack sees Domino close by, eating some grass, and there are fried eggs on a pan with some toast. Birds chirping. The man raises a metal mug without taking his eyes of the flames, smoke leaving his mouth.

 

“Coffee,” is all Anti murmurs.

 

The boy narrows his eyes, trying to understand what is happening in his life, and the man grunts. Jack moves then, hesitating a bit before accepting the coffee mug, and he sits down next to the cowboy without thinking too much. The Irishman cups his hands around the drink, staring at the freckled man with wide eyes, and they don’t talk for a moment. That’s quite a funny sight. Jack, tired as fuck and so lost, sitting next to that nonchalant cowboy. Anti just smokes, sipping from his own mug, and he looks down at the boy’s neck. Jack purses his lips, imagining the man taking them far away from that place and camping when it was too late. He drinks and the warm beverage is welcome in his tongue. He coughs at his sore throat, swallowing, and he glances at the man. Ginger hair flowing with the wind, hat next to him instead.

 

“W-Was it you?” Jack wonders and his voice comes out broken, too small for his liking. He clears his throat. “Who were they?”

 

Anti hums. “Bounty hunters.”

 

The Irishman frowns, remembering what Robin told him over people talking about them. It must have reached the ears of men like them and everyone knows how steep the price is for the Hellbreakers’ heads. However, Jack would never thought that it would work to use him as a fucking bait. That Anti would actually show up. He wonders if the freckled man was on the way towards his house last night and realized that the boy was gone. Jack fidgets with the mug in his hands, biting his bottom lip, and he recalls how terrifying it felt to be hanging from that tree. That rope burning his skin, suffocating him. Jack would be dead if Anti didn’t risk being caught by those assholes.

 

“Did you kill them?” the boy murmurs.

 

“Left one to tell.”

 

“Tell what?” The copper-haired man stares at Jack when hearing that question, smoke leaving his nose, and he doesn’t answer. The Irishman shakes his head, turning his face away to look at the fire. He hears birds singing and Domino huffing in the background. He sighs, drinking some more, and it’s amazing how the man already manages to get under his skin. “You make me angry, cowboy.”

 

There’s a hum and he’s certain that the man is holding back a smile. Idiot. Jack touches his neck, wincing, and the freckled man tells him to eat. The Irishman doesn’t refuse that, taking a plate to have some eggs. He asks if they will come for him again but the cowboy shakes his head, muttering that no one will hurt him and that he shouldn’t worry anymore. Jack holds back a groan, still not getting why they thought he would be good for something, and Anti steals one of his toasts. The Irishman’s too tired to complain about that and their shoulders brush, both quietly eating. He looks at that small tent and wonders if the man slept at all. He always looks tired, though. It’s like Anti has a weight on his shoulders but he acts like it’s not there. Jack purses his lips, glancing at the man, and he whispers a _Thank you_. The freckled man grunts under his breath but the boy can tell that he likes the gratitude.

 

Once Jack’s done eating, he gets up to talk to Domino and caress her. Her sounds are deep and he likes how calm she seems to be. She slowly moves her head up and down, bumping Jack’s hand and making him giggle. Anti says something about her liking him and that she doesn’t like strangers too much. The brown-haired man smiles, eyes turning into half-moons. The copper-haired man watches them for a while before packing all his stuff. It’s better to go back home. He doesn’t know what time it is and he doesn’t want to worry his friends. Anti puts out his cigarette, putting on his hat, and he throws dirt over the fire. The man takes that tent apart and folds everything, walking up to them to place everything around Domino. The Irishman knits his eyebrows when the man searches for something in his pocket and urges the boy to open his hand, only to give him that wooden piece. Jack’s lips part, brushing his thumb over the deer’s head and feeling its antlers. He thought he wouldn’t see that again.

 

“I told you not to lose it.”

 

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters, not taking his eyes away from the object. “Thank you.”

 

“Just be careful next time, angel.”

 

Jack’s eyebrows go up, immediately staring up at the man over that nickname. Anti winks at him with a smirk and the Irishman lightly hits his chest, smiling and calling him ridiculous. The cowboy tells him to get on the horse and Jack manages to hop on without much help. Anti sits behind him, clicking his tongue and tapping his feet on his horse’s side, and Domino starts trotting. Jack looks down at that piece in his hand, feeling the man’s warmth on his back, and he snorts over that silly nickname. Angel? Really? The man touches his waist, a hold that the Irishman is liking more than he should, but it is a nice comfort after what happened. Anti brings him back to town and, when they enter it, people stop to stare at them. Jack clenches his hands in an anxious manner, aware of that bruise around his neck just like that hickey. He must look like a mess. The ginger-haired man seems unfazed by the looks, chin up, and Jack asks him to stop by the bar. Domino neighs and Anti hops down first, so he can help the boy to get out. Robin and Ethan show up by the porch, looking concerned, and Jack exchanges a look with the cowboy. Anti’s emerald eyes shine under that sun, freckles standing out, and the Irishman opens his mouth to speak while holding up that wooden deer.

 

“I wonder what you’ll bring me next time.”

 

It’s not a promise but a provocation, wanting the cowboy to see him again. Jack has to admit he missed the man’s company and he wishes that they didn’t meet last night under such circumstances. It was terrifying and he’s truly thankful that Anti saved his life. The copper-haired man hums and tilts his hat, a hint of a smile on his face before he goes back to Domino. Jack steps back, crossing his arms over his chest, and they look at each other one more time. Anti pulls his horse’s reins and the Irishman watches him go. Ethan runs towards him, already asking what happened and if he’s alright, and Jack huffs. He has a lot to explain and Robin’s the first to purse his lips once they’re inside. The Irishman hugs all of them, glad to have a beating heart and see them again. They listen to him and Marlene treats him extra sweet, not liking to see such a bruise on her boy. He talks to Robin in private and the Swedish man thinks that can happen again, if he keeps hanging out with that man. Jack finds that hard to believe. It was a mistake and Anti took care of them.

 

He whispers that being apart would be hurtful, liking the cowboy’s company too much by now, and Robin sighs. He cups Jack’s face and his words are low, but supportive. He’ll be there for the Irishman, not wanting him to get hurt, and the brown-haired man appreciates him so much. Robin helped him so many times and Jack knows he means well. He’s dying to take a bath, though, so the Swedish tells him to use their bathroom and get himself clean clothes. It’s only when he enters that room that he sees his reflection and his lips part at the sight. There’s a perfect red ring around his neck, soon to be purple and darker. Jack touches his skin there, grimacing, and he wishes it was another hickey instead. Not this. He looks so tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is a mess. The Irishman can put himself together but Anti won’t leave his mind all day.

 

And Jack dreams of him.

 

He dreams of kissing Anti in his own bed, both tangled in sheets, and their mouths are warm. Their tongues brush and they tilt their heads, hands caressing each other. Jack dreams of the ginger-haired man pecking his neck and shoulder, tender touches that leave him with a smile. Calloused fingers brushing on his back, wandering between his legs and making him shudder. He wakes up with a foggy mind and a frown every time. Jack keeps thinking about their last time as well, in his bedroom, and how much profound it felt. He wonders if it’s all in his head. If he’s seeing things where there isn’t. He’s aroused by his thoughts and dreams, and he touches himself to get some relief. Jack moans under his breath, biting his lips and trying to be quiet while stroking his shaft. The Irishman imagines the cowboy walking in, as if he belongs there, and his fantasy brings him to the edge. He spasms alone in bed, broken gasps leaving his pink mouth and knuckles turning white. The brown-haired man shouldn’t be thinking about these things. About kissing that man and that stupid smirk. That’s not good.

 

Not at all.

 

Jack sees him again after a week. It’s Ethan that comes up the saloon stairs and tells him to look out the window, with a grin on his face. The Irishman frowns but drops some sheets to lean against a windowsill, only to see Anti on his black horse. The man looks up and he whistles, making a motion with his chin as if calling the boy. Jack huffs with a smile, shaking his head, and he goes downstairs. He exchanges a look with Robin, asking something without words, and his friend nods with a wave. The Irishman smiles more, grabbing his thin jacket and walking out the saloon. The afternoon sunlight bathes his skin and Anti greets him a low _‘Morning_ , holding Domino’s reins. He’s wearing a dark red coat this time and Jack likes it. Usually they meet behind closed door and he wonders what does the cowboy want, standing outside. Anti extends an arm without words, gloved hands towards the boy, and Jack narrows his eyes. He takes it, wrapping his fingers around the man’s, and he hoists himself up to get on the horse. The freckled man holds him, grunting under his breath, and they ride out of town.

 

They pass by beautiful trees, running on a dirt road, and Jack looks around with his blue eyes. He never really left that town and Anti keeps going far away, Domino galloping with strong huffs. At first, Jack thinks the man is taking him to some place private so they can have sex, but the cowboy doesn’t show any sign of stopping. It takes him a moment to realize Anti just wants to ride with him and the Irishman catches glimpses of some rabbits running around, pointing at them with a smile. The wind brushes against his skin, hair softly hitting his forehead, and they go up hills. They pass by wagons and other cowboys, people minding their own business. Jack looks at them all, practically twisting himself left and right, and Anti murmurs for him to stay still. Domino slows down when they reach a field up a cliff, with a couple of trees on its end. There are tons of flowers and butterflies flying around, and Jack finds it so beautiful. The copper-haired man stops them in the middle of it and he leaves first, helping the boy on his way out with a huff.

 

They walk side by side, getting closer to that cliff and looking at Vincent Town from above. So small and distant. Jack runs a hand through his hair, jacket moving with the wind, and Anti sits down to rest his back against a tree. He takes out a small knife and a new wooden piece, carving it with a relaxed stance. Jack takes his eyes away from that view to pay attention to the man, a light frown on his face. The brown-haired man doesn’t know why Anti brought him there and why he’s being so casual. Jack’s not against it but it’s certainly surprising for him. He sits down across from the freckled man, resting against another tree, and he pulls his legs up to hug himself. He looking down at that view once more and Domino eats some grass, quietly pacing and enjoying a free time. Jack thinks to himself, humming.

 

“I never quite left Vincent Town, you know… When I was a little boy, I thought that was the whole world…” the Irishman says, a wistful smile on his face. He looks at Anti, eyes meeting, and the man has stopped carving to listen. “Made exploring get boring quite fast.”

 

The cowboy says nothing, just glancing at Jack’s neck for a moment. The Irishman’s self-conscious of how yellowish it looks between purple now, skin healing. The man hums, focusing back on what’s in his hands and Jack watches him work. The flowers dance along with the grass, no one near to make a sound. Just the wind. Anti knits his eyebrows in concentration and the boy likes that,  splinters falling onto the man’s lap. He rubs his thumb over it, putting his knife away once he’s done, and he takes a final look before extending his arm. Jack blinks but moves just enough to take it, fingers brushing. It’s a bust of a bear this time, full of little cuts to look like fur, and the brown-haired man admires it. The cowboy whispers he saw that animal the other day, running by a river, and Jack stares back at him with a frown. He wants to know more. He wants to know Anti and something tells him that the man wants to know him too. They wouldn’t be there if that wasn’t true. Jack asks where he goes, when they aren’t together, and the cowboy purses his lips. The boy waits, raising his eyebrows.

 

“I have a camp not far from here,” Anti answers, taking off his hat and ruffling his curls. “We’re laying low… What about you?”

 

Jack chuckles. “There’s nothing thrilling in my life. I don’t even know why you waste your time with me.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

They exchange a look and there’s a warm hand wrapping around the Irishman’s ankle, caressing him there. Jack smiles, shaking his head, and the cowboy rubs his thumb against porcelain skin while they watch the view. It’s nice to see that side of him, when they’re not tangled in sheets. Anti still looks tired, but calm. Jack plays a bit with that carved piece and the cowboy tells him to keep it. When the sun begins to set, he gets hungry and the freckled man whistles at Domino for her to come closer. Anti stands up, walking towards a bag on her side, and he takes out some jerked beef. They eat, sharing an apple as well, and the copper-haired man lets him feed Domino. Jack giggles, holding a piece with a flat hand, and her big nose bumps against his skin before eating it. He smiles more, caressing her while Anti looks at them. She has gorgeous dark brown eyes and he jokes that she has to be very patient to deal with the cowboy. There are grey clouds above as time passes but they stay, liking to just sit by the grass and chat every now and then.

 

Jack lies down on grass, watching those dark clouds, and he wishes that day to last. He wishes Anti could stay next to him like that every time, both enjoying their presence. He wishes for the wind to keep singing for them and the flowers still brushing against their skin. But, alas, the moment ends. The boy catches a glimpse of a white horse from afar and, at first, he pays no mind. When it keeps getting closer, however, he recognizes someone on it that he has no desire to see. He immediately stands up with a rush of cold, urging Anti to do the same and saying that he wants to go now. The cowboy puts on his hat with a frown and Jack takes his hand without a second thought, guiding them back towards Domino.

 

“Why are you always in a hurry when you see me?” Felix’s voice reaches their ears, horse stopping in front of them, and Jack grimaces. Anti narrows his eyes, looking up at the man, and Felix tilts his hat. “Been wanting to have a chat with you.”

 

The Irishman scowls, tugging on Anti’s hand more, and they walk around the white animal. He manages to speak through his teeth that that’s a shame and they’re leaving. He tightens their hands, glaring at the flowers, but Felix’s next words freeze him in place. A nauseous wave hits him and his throat closes.

 

“Does he warm your bed as good as he did mine? He does make us want to ravish him just by standing there, doesn’t he? Lots of folks would know that, I’m sure of it.”

 

Jack closes his eyes, heart clenching, and the freckled man stares back at Felix with a burning gaze. The first raindrop falls from the sky, hitting his cheek, and there’s a cooler breeze. A thunder in the distant, barely there. He presses his lips together when Anti’s hand slips away from his hold.

 

“What did you just say?” Anti growls, walking back, and the brown-haired man tells them to quit it. The cowboy stops in front of the sheriff’s white horse, hand moving down to his coat just enough to reveal his golden gun, and Felix smirks. “Say that again.”

 

“Oh, you heard me just fine… I hope your visits in my town are paying off. You seem to quite enjoy it. Too much for my liking, I’m afraid.”

 

The Irishman groans, full of shame and anger, and he yells for them to fucking stop. That Felix is just provoking Anti and that there’s no point. They’re both being childish. It starts drizzling and the copper-haired man continues to glare at the sheriff, hand hovering over his pistol. Jack really doesn’t want to deal with that, especially after having such a nice day with the cowboy. It’s ridiculous! He shouts that he’s leaving, turning around and walking away from both of them. Felix calls for him sweetly, showing up next to him, and Jack refuses his ride with a loud swear. The sheriff huffs but leaves him be, riding his horse with a smug face. God, the Irishman hates him. He ruins everything. The brown-haired man crosses his arms with a heavy heart, trying to push away the man’s words. He didn’t want Anti to know about that. He really didn’t. It doesn’t help that they’re both being jealous. The rain damps his clothes, walking on mud now, and he curses when looking around. He doesn’t know exactly where he is. Anti brought him to a place he never was before, but he’s sure that it wasn’t too far from town. Goddamnit. How come this day, that was going so well, end so terribly?

 

Jack purses his lips, hearing hooves approaching, and he’s ready to shout at the sheriff for insisting again. When he turns to his side, though, he sees Domino and Anti. The Irishman feels a rush of embarrassment, so he keeps walking while telling the man to go. The freckled man stays alongside him, horse trotting slowly, and Jack shivers. Anti grunts when the boy doesn’t stop and he turns Domino to be right in front of him, cutting him off. The brown-haired man shudders again and rainwater streams down his skin. The ginger-haired man clicks his tongue and takes off his red coat before throwing it at the boy. Jack catches it with a frown and Anti murmurs for him to put it on, his own clothes now damp and curly hair sticking to his forehead. Jack blinks with wet eyelashes but he does what he’s told, dressing up with that coat and sighing. They gaze at each other and the Irishman gives in, hopping up on the horse and sitting behind Anti. The coat is warm inside and he rests his forehead against the man’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist. The cowboy takes them back to town and there’s a hand over his, so the boy hugs him more. They’re quiet during the ride and Jack’s thoughts wander.

 

When they finally arrive at the Irishman’s house, they’re soaking wet. The rain falls without mercy and Anti wants to leave Domino on a stable for a while. Jack steps on his porch then, unsure if the man will come back. He walks into his house, taking off his shoes, and he works on his small fireplace. He leans against a table, running a towel over his face, and he’s too tired to remove his damp clothes. Jack despises that Felix’s words sting, being reminded of what he did and why Anti sees him in the first place. He places that new wooden piece over the table and his thoughts are interrupted by an opening door. He turns around to meet the cowboy and they exchange a look. Anti leans against the door, pushing his wet hair back, and Jack doesn’t like what comes out of the man’s lips.

 

“You’re afraid of him,” he says. “You don’t look at him in the eyes.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

The Irishman is quick to cut the conversation and there’s a long silence between them, only the rain muffled in the background. Anti makes a motion with his fingers, calling for the boy instead. Jack sighs but walks towards him, floor creaking, and he looks up at those emerald eyes. The freckled man touches his cheek with cold fingers, tilting his head to the side, and Jack swallows at that. Anti’s hand slides down to his neck, feeling that still sore skin, and he takes a deep breath. The Irishman’s heartbeat falters, knowing the man can probably feel it on the tip of his fingers. They lock their gaze and raindrops stream down from Anti’s wet hair. It’s such a sweet touch, coming from hands of a murderer, and the boy doesn’t know what to do with himself. He sighs, shuffling on his feet.

 

“Go on… Do what you came here for.”

 

Anti’s arm falls back to his side and there’s a brief silence. His eyes search for something in the Irishman’s face and he purses his lips.

 

“You don’t want it.”

 

“Since when do you care about that...?” Jack whispers, throat still threatening to close. “Make me want it...”

 

The copper-haired man scowls but he pushes the Irishman backwards, taking off that red coat. Jack’s back rests against a wall and Anti continues to tug on his clothes, ripping them off with strong hands. He gasps, heart racing, and the man reveals his pale skin in the dim room. The sound of fabric being torn, hastily removed, makes him tremble. The corners of his eyes burn with tears, so he closes his eyes while trying not to make a sound. When Jack’s pants are pushed down, he waits for that rough touch to bruise him but it never comes. Instead, there are soft and cold fingers on his waist. He lets out a shaky breath, lips quivering, and they go up to his sides. Thumbs brushing against his skin. His nipples and chest. Jack opens his eyes, tears escaping without permission, and Anti is looking at him. Those emerald gemstones of his, full of warmth. He swallows, slowly relaxing, and the cowboy brushes his knuckles on his cheek. Wiping tears away. The Irishman shivers, calloused fingers moving to his back, and Anti feels old scars there. He softly cups Jack’s ass cheeks, burying his face in the crook of his neck, and the boy’s heart flutters.

 

The freckled man lifts him off the floor and the Irishman locks his legs around his waist with a huff, hands clenching around wet clothes. Anti presses his thigh between Jack’s legs and he keeps caressing the brown-haired man. The cowboy doesn’t take his eyes off Jack, a light frown while he moves, and he tightens their hold. The Irishman lets out a weak moan, not getting why the man is being so tender, and his back shuffles against the wall. His dick twitches, liking that slow teasing, and Anti tells him to hold onto him. Jack wraps his arms around the man’s shoulders, burying his face there, and the freckled man walks them towards the bedroom. Rain continues to fall, world getting darker as the moon rises, and he lies in bed with a sigh. Anti spreads his legs and, to the Irishman’s surprise, he leans down. Jack gasps, body tensing up when feeling a warm breath against his asshole, and there’s a grunt.

 

“W-What are you… Oh, g-god, your mouth…” the brown-haired man moans, arching his back.

 

Anti’s beard lightly scratch him there, giving him goosebumps, and Jack’s cock hardens when feeling the man’s split tongue brushing on pink skin. He squirms in bed, putting his legs over the Anti’s shoulders, and he shyly jerks his hips up. No one ever tried that with him. He’s always been the one to give the other pleasure. To just take it. Anti hums, biting his skin before planting kisses on his inner thighs. Jack clenches his hand onto the covers, tugging them, and he pants in the room. He runs his fingers through the cowboy’s damp hair, moaning when his tongue slides in and out of him. The freckled man licks his balls, up to his shaft, and Jack lets out a whimper. Anti sucks the tip of his throbbing cock and the Irishman moves his hips, fucking his mouth. Jack calls him a bastard, mumbling that he hates the man. He’s doing that on purpose, really making the Irishman want him. There’s a wet pop and Anti crawls up to him, mouth smeared with precum. Jack groans, whispering for him to take off those stupid clothes, and the cowboy sits up to do just that. The Irishman’s mouth falls open when they’re skin to skin, and Anti bites his neck while they move together.

 

Jack pants when the man pushes his cock inside him, lungs filling with air, and the freckled man’s thrusts are slow. He grinds his hips into Jack, ripping out a choked mewl out of him, and they hug each other. The Irishman’s heart beats like a drum, hazy eyes staring at nothing, and he melts in bed while being thoroughly fucked. He asked Anti to do this because it’s the only thing he knows. No desire for kissing someone he shouldn’t nor thinking about the past. It’s safe. They don’t have to talk or look at each other. Jack’s used to this... So why is the cowboy being gentle? Why is caressing his skin and breathing into his neck, letting out low moans and warming Jack’s heart? They shuffle in bed and he shuts his teary eyes, knitting his eyebrows in pleasure. Anti cups his face, moving just enough to rest their foreheads together.

 

“Look at me,” he breathes.

 

Fuck. The brown-haired man opens his eyes, locking their gaze, and Anti’s thrusts are deep. He’s so close and their pupils are wide, cheeks flushed. God, he’s gorgeous. What are they doing? What is this? Jack didn’t ask for these feelings that bloom in his lungs, barely letting him breathe. He sucks in air, toes curling, mouth just brushing against the man’s. They tense up and the Irishman cums with a sob, staring at those green eyes. Anti follows him, both spasming and gasping, jizz smearing their skin. His hips jerk and Jack’s eyes flutter, feeling the man’s cock pulsing inside him. He sighs and runs his hand over the freckled man’s hair, that’s beginning to curl again. He shakes his head, chest rising up and down.

 

“Please… T-Tell me that there’s something,” he whispers, voice hoarse, and he hopes that the man understands what he means. “Is there? A-Am I going crazy? Am I a f-fool? This wasn’t just… Is this something more?”

 

Anti breathes with an open mouth, staring at him with a light frown, and there’s a pause. Jack grimaces, thinking he’s really a fool, but the man nods once with a low answer. A soft _Yes,_  barely there, but enough to make Jack’s heart flutters. A foreign ache. The brown-haired man holds back a whimper and he wants to believe Anti. He wants it so bad. Jack mumbles for him to stay, brushing his mouth on the man’s cheek, and there’s a deep hum. When the cowboy makes a move to pull out, the Irishman stops him. He doesn’t want Anti to get up, worried that they won’t touch anymore. So they lie on their sides, legs tangled, and Jack likes to feel the man’s soft cock inside. Their hearts calm down, breathing shallow, and the muffled rain lulles them to sleep. It doesn’t take too long for the boy to rest, melting in bed and liking that warmth. That scent of rain and something more.

 

It’s the sound of the floor creaking that wakes him up and it’s almost a shame. Jack raises his head, groggy from sleep, and he narrows his eyes in the dark. His hair is disheveled, bruises on his inner thighs, and he calls for the cowboy when seeing his silhouette. The freckled man walks towards him, fully dressed, and he sits down next to Jack. The mattress shift with the new weight and Anti touches his cheek, murmuring something about going back to sleep. The boy only frowns more, mumbling that the sun hasn’t come out yet. It’s still raining, a faint drizzle outside. The cowboy shakes his head and the brown-haired man sighs, resting his head back into a pillow, mind foggy still. There’s a thumb caressing his cheek and he hums, saying words without quite thinking.

 

“Bring me a kiss...”

 

That caress stops for a second and Anti huffs before getting up, leaving the room. Jack watches him through half-lidded eyes, already so close from falling back asleep, and his silhouette turns into a blur.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to this song that I found yesterday ;A; - [And I Love Him by Benjamin Gibbard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YDcinGIny4)  
> 


	6. A Taste of Paradise

“He still hasn’t showed up, huh?”

 

Jack purses his lips, looking away from that deer piece in his hands to see his friend. He’s sitting on top of the counter, saloon still closed, and Robin stops organizing some tables to talk to him. The Irishman shrugs, fingers brushing against wood, and Robin sighs. It’s been more than two weeks since he last saw Anti, after that rainy night, and he tells himself that the cowboy has done that before. That he shouldn’t worry. Jack should’ve kept his mouth shut when they lied in bed, though. Robin walks up to him, placing a hand over the boy’s knee, and they exchange a look. The Irishman rubs the back of his neck and he explains his concern. Jack basically asked Anti if he liked the boy and, now, he’s not sure if the man meant it. Maybe the freckled man just wanted his warmth once more and didn’t want to upset him. Either that or he backed away. It’s so silly and Jack’s tangled in this mess, with feelings he didn’t expect to have. He can’t stop thinking about their last time and how more intimate it felt.

 

Robin hums, saying that the man is properly busy stealing somewhere, and Jack sends him a look. His friend chuckles and ruffles the boy’s hair, only trying to make him smile. The Swedish man looks around the saloon and then he pats Jack’s thigh.

 

“C’mon! Let’s go out, I have an idea.”

 

The Irishman perks up at that. “What? We need to open s-”

 

“Ah, these drunk bastards can wait! Let’s get you some new clothes and just have fun. The girls can rest some more until then.”

 

Jack hops off the counter and follows his friend outside, putting that wooden piece back in his pocket. It’s really kind of Robin to do this and, once again, the boy is thankful to have him by his side. They chat while walking towards the nearest store. distracting themselves in this day, and Jack kicks some small rocks on the way. When they walk into the shop, the doorbell rings and an owner greets them, organizing some products on shelves. There’s a rather small section of clothes hanging in display and Jack swears he sees some old blood stains in a few coats. The Swedish man asks for the owner for his best outfits and the Irishman chuckles with him, both looking for something they like. The man is right, though. Jack does need more clothes. The few ones he has are getting too thin, torn and with buttons falling apart. It doesn’t help that Anti ruined some of them either. He shakes his head, knowing he shouldn’t be thinking about the cowboy.

 

There’s a dark blue shirt that he tries it on and Robin gives him a black waistcoat, with a matching jacket. He looks at himself in a mirror, showing to the Swedish man as well, and they approve the whole outfit. It’s something simple, but it’s better than what he has. Slightly warmer. It will do him well. Robin gets himself a new pair of boots and coat, helping the boy to pay for his. They talk about going fishing again that week, walking in their town, and they feed that stray dog with some meat. Back at the saloon, Robin pours them a drink and Ethan joins them with a grin. The girls also get a free round and they just spend some good time together, everyone making Jack turn around to show his new clothes between laughter. It’s a nice moment to remember that they are his family and the Irishman raises a glass for them, smiling and looking at their faces. He feels that piece weighting in his pocket, but the whiskey burning down into his throat makes him forget about it.

 

It’s one of those days where everyone makes sure they are doing alright. Marlene checks on him twice and Ethan lunches with him, at the back of the saloon. They all just hang out and Jack’s thoughts don’t overwhelm him, just focusing on what’s happening in front of him. He stays behind the counter in the end of the afternoon, cleaning some glasses, and Robin left to place some empty boxes outside. He knits his eyebrows when hearing his friend’s voice, muffled outside, and he looks out the window to see what’s going on. Jack’s lips part, seeing Domino hitched to a post, and he leaves the counter. The brown-haired man opens the double doors, only to see Anti scowling at Robin, and he catches just part of what the Swedish man says.

 

“...can’t just keep playing with his emotions like that.”

 

“Robin…” Jack says and they both look at him. Anti’s frown softens and the light-haired man purses his lips. “It’s okay, I got this.”

 

Robin steps back, sighing, but he touches Jack’s shoulder as a comfort before leaving. The Irishman smiles and he just takes a minute to look at the cowboy. Anti’s wearing a black coat with fringes this time, shirt underneath, and there’s a healing bruise on his right cheek. Jack walks until he’s right in front of him, crossing his arms, and Anti follows him with his gaze. The man’s dark circles under his eyes are deeper and he seems restless. There’s a relief kissing Jack’s heart for seeing him alive, though. The ginger-haired man clenches his hands a couple of times, taking a deep breath, and he looks at the boy up and down. Jack’s cheeks redden but he keeps his stance. Anti opens his mouth but closes it, both just staring, and it’s painful how much the Irishman wants to touch him. To just feel his warm skin. However, they stay within distance in public, not wanting more eyes on them. Jack sighs, thinking.

 

“Leave Domino on a stable and come back,” the brown-haired man murmurs. “I want you to wait for me.”

 

Anti narrows his eyes but doesn’t question him, only nodding once. Jack can’t resist to pet Domino for a second, greeting her and smiling when she snorts at him. He walks back into the saloon while Anti goes to take her away and he meets Robin’s gaze. He asks if Jack is alright and the boy nods, saying that he wants to have a say of what to do with the cowboy tonight. Usually it’s Anti who controls the situation. Where they go and do. The Irishman just thought they could try the opposite. The freckled man enters the place after a while, sitting at a table in a corner, and he nods at Robin from afar. The Swedish man murmurs that his cowboy is trying to be nice now and Jack holds back a smile, pouring a shot for the man. The brown-haired man goes to him, placing the cup of glass on the wooden table, and Anti’s hand comes up to touch his wrist. It’s a soft caress, Jack’s back hiding that from folks, and they exchange a look. He missed that. The Irishman’s heart skips a beat and the ginger-haired man thanks him for the drink. Calloused fingers brush on his inner wrist and the boy pulls the man’s hat down again, huffing with a smile before leaving.

 

It’s amazing how easy it is for their eyes to meet, even though Jack does his best to keep working and not get distracted. At some point, Ethan goes to talk to Anti and the boy raises his eyebrows, not knowing what to expect. The kid smiles and Jack knows he’s very charming, but it’s still a surprise when he manages to pull Anti out of the chair and bring him to the counter. Jack’s a bit jittery, listening to Ethan ask about what the man thinks of the Irishman and just sharing stories. Anti seems unfazed, having another drink, and he just grunts every now and then as a comment. Marlene comes over and Jack flushes more, begging them to stop harassing the cowboy, and she hums while fanning herself. Marlene teases about Anti finding it worth it to come back over and over for the Irishman and the ginger-haired man whispers that it is. Jack looks at him through his eyelashes, wondering if he really means it, and they keep talking some more when night falls. The brown-haired man has to shoo everyone away from Anti so they can finally go.

 

The freckled man follows him outside, knitting his eyebrows when Jack turns to the opposite direction from his home, and the boy says they’ll go for a walk. Anti sticks to his side and the Irishman puts his hands in his pockets, feeling the cold air. They don’t speak while leaving town, only the sound of their boots against dirt and their slow breathing. Jack leads them towards a forest and the quietness is welcome, different from so many voices at the saloon. Crickets sing at their arrival and sometimes he glances at Anti, knowing the man’s looking at him too. There’s always this pull between them, an urge to be near and feel each other. He can’t never really understand or know when that began. It’s just there. Jack’s thoughts wander the further they walk into the forest, passing by trees, and soft grass brushes against their ankles. They reach a clearing, a few fireflies illuminating the place, and Jack looks up to see the dark sky. He takes a deep breath, standing in the middle, and there are so many stars twinkling above.

 

“I used to come here to be alone… When I wanted to run away from what was around me… No one could find me here,” Jack whispers, remembering. “It was just me and the stars.”

 

Anti hums and they sit down on the grass, staring at the sky. The freckled man takes off his hat and lies down, an arm resting on the back of his head, and there’s a hand that touches Jack’s back. The boy shivers, feeling fingers sliding under his jacket and shirt, caressing him there. God, he really did miss that. His heart flutters, turning around to hover over the man, and Anti’s eyes are closed. He sees that healing bruise on his cheek once more and he wonders if the cowboy could fall asleep that easily now.

 

“Where were you?” he dares and the copper-haired man opens his eyes to see him. “I think I missed you.”

 

“Mm, I had some business to take care of… Took longer than I wanted to.”

 

“Did you bring me what I asked?”

 

At that, Anti caresses his cheek but purses his lips. Jack sighs and he leans down until their noses brush. For a split second, it almost look like they would kiss, moving closer. The Irishman pecks the cowboy’s cheek instead, brushing his lips down to his neck. Anti hums, wrapping his arms around the boy, and Jack plants light kisses on his skin. He breathes into Anti’s scent and he whispers if the freckled man really meant it. When he said about the Irishman being worth it. About this being something more. The copper-haired man tightens his hold, nodding and burying his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, and they tangle their legs. The Irishman gasps when Anti’s lips meet his skin too, nuzzling his nose there, and they give each other hickeys in the night. It’s not what he asked, but it’s good nonetheless. It’s slow and the brown-haired man moves just enough to stare at those green eyes, running his fingers through ginger curls. Anti shuts his eyes, enjoying the feeling, and Jack can’t get over how gorgeous he is. How come he has that man in his arms? What does he see in the boy that’s really worth it?

 

He lies down to look at the stars, Anti’s arm keeping him in place, and they stay in the clearing some more. It’s peaceful and it doesn’t come off as a surprise when the cowboy falls asleep. Jack just holds back a smile, letting him rest a bit, and his heart is calm. That worry from before fades and he hopes that they can spend more times like that. He remembers that rope around his neck but there’s a sense of delight, knowing Anti will protect him. It’s a thrill that runs through his body, never quite sure what could happen but daring to try. When a cold breeze makes him shiver, he lightly shakes the man’s shoulder, and the copper-haired man grumbles. Jack says that they need to go and they get up, patting their pants. Anti’s groggy from sleep and he wraps his fingers around the boy’s hand, sighing while they walk. The Irishman entwines their fingers, guiding them home.

 

Their hands fall back to their side when they reach Vincent Town, but they still feel their warmth. Anti hesitates once they’re in front of Jack’s house, but the boy pulls him inside. Behind closed doors, there’s barely any space between them and the cowboy doesn’t stop him from tugging on his clothes. Jack missed him and he doesn’t want to think at all, only feel. They take off their outfits, tossing them across the floor, and they walk into the Irishman’s bedroom. Anti bites his neck and caresses his back, possessive hands roaming through his body and making him sigh. They melt in bed and it doesn’t take too long for Jack’s moans to fill the air. The freckled man buries inside him and he rubs his thumb on the Irishman’s lips, watching him fall apart. Jack arches his back and breathes hard, scratching the man’s back. The mattress shuffles with their movements and Anti whispers for him to be louder. The brown-haired man groans but mewls, their skin slapping, and his hazy eyes flutter. It’s overwhelming and delicious, as always. Anti pounds into him with grunts and he leaves Jack breathless. Toes curling and a scream trapped in his throat when they come undone.

 

Jack rests his forehead against the man’s, panting, and Anti pulls out to fall next to him. He buries his face into the boy’s pillow, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, and the Irishman pushes some copper strands away from his face. Anti takes deep breaths, blinking heavy, and Jack watches him fall asleep. The brown-haired man gets comfortable under the covers, holding onto that pure bliss fogging his mind, and he drowns in it. He sleeps, surrounded by the cowboy’s scent and warmth, but unwelcome dreams haunt him at night. Jack’s eyes move fast behind his eyelids, squirming and reliving moments he wishes to forget. It’s almost a relief waking up in a gasp and it takes him a moment to ground himself. To remember where he is and that he can move. It’s the sight of Anti lightly snoring that calms him down, seeing his mouth ajar and covers down to his waist. He’s lying on his stomach, completely out, and Jack drags a hand over his face. The Irishman cleans his eyes and it’s still dark outside, too early to get up.

 

He sighs, cursing his dreams for interrupting his sleep, but he gets to see Anti. He hopes that the man doesn’t leave right away like before. Jack blinks and raises a hand to lightly trace over the man’s scars. So many freckles on his back. He counts some of them, waiting for time to pass, but they never seem to end. Anti doesn’t stir, breathing deep, and Jack gets lost in his constellations that paint his skin. He traces over faint red lines that he made, memories from last night kissing his mind, and he bites his bottom lip. There are hickeys on the cowboy’s neck and he’s sure that he has marks too. Jack sits up, careful not to make a sound, and he manages to sneak over the man without fucking things up. He stretches, listening some birds finally chirping outside, and he eyes Anti’s clothes on the floor. The brown-haired man takes his black shirt and he hesitates for a second before putting it on. Jack buttons it up, feeling the long sleeves brushing against his skin, and he holds back a snort over how more loose it is on him.

 

Jack goes to the bathroom to empty his bladder, washing his face and rinsing his mouth, and he fixes his bed hair. There are bruises on his skin, half-moons on his waist and bite marks all over his neck. Shoulders and chest. God, he’s so gone. This is getting so much complicated and yet he can’t resist any of this. When he comes back to the bedroom, Anti’s spread on his bed. The ginger-haired man is more towards the wall, tangled in the covers, and Jack finds that endearing. He’s glad that the man is resting, so he just sits on the mattress edge while looking out the window. Faint morning light showing between gaps in his curtains. The Irishman catches a glimpse of Anti’s hat on the floor and he bends down to take it, playing with it in his hands. There’s a hum and Jack looks over his shoulder to see the man stirring himself awake, frowning and stretching in bed. Anti rubs his eyes and the Irishman stares at his light happy trail peeking from the covers. Muscles dancing with his movements. When he focuses on Jack, he tugs on the black shirt. A soft grumble falling from his lips.

 

The brown-haired man huffs, putting on the hat and adjusting so it won’t cover his eyes. “Howdy, partner,” he says. “G’mornin’ to ya.”

 

Anti snorts with a low chuckle and Jack’s heart clenches at his smile, something so rare. “Very funny…”

 

The cowboy narrows his eyes more, as if just now realizing he’s still in the boy’s house, and Jack takes off the hat when he makes a motion to sit up. The Irishman places a hand over the man’s chest and he shakes his head.

 

“Stay,” the boy whispers. “You made me breakfast once… Let me repay you.”

 

The ginger-haired man presses his lips together but doesn’t make any motion to leave. Jack gives him a small smile before getting up, saying he’ll make some coffee. He walks into the kitchen, picking up some matches to light the dark stove and heat up water. Jack takes some grinded coffee beans, setting everything up, and he’s thankful that he has fresh eggs. There’s still some bread and cheese that he can cut as well and he puts two plates over a wooden table. He hears shuffling and Anti walks in wearing only his pants, leaning against the doorframe. Jack glances at him and snorts, saying that he’s very charming in the morning. All sleepy like that. Anti grunts, rubbing an eye, and his feet practically drag when he comes closer. The Irishman’s lips part when there are hands wrapping around his waist, the cowboy holding him from behind. He shuts his eyes for a moment, feeling those hands touching his inner thighs, under the shirt. Anti grabs his skin, humming in the crook of his neck, and Jack rests his head on the man’s shoulders.

 

“God, you don’t get tired…” the boy breathes, holding back a moan when the freckled man ruts against him once.  “You just had me last night.”

 

“Mm, it’s a new day.”

 

Jack bats his hands away, wanting to eat something, but he yelps when Anti squeezes his ass cheek before sitting down at the table. He flushes, cursing under his breath, and he fries some eggs for them. He knits his eyebrows, staring at that frying pan. Jack thinks he never quite had someone in his house like this. Robin and Ethan have visited him before but he never made breakfast for them. This is different. The usual quietness of his home is being broken with the cowboy’s presence. Anti’s staring out the window, resting a chin on a hand, and Jack places some food on the table. The coffee is made and he likes that smell in the air, sitting down and pouring himself some. He notices the freckled man looking at him and his eyes flicker to the food, telling the man to eat. Their feet brush under the table and his heart skips a beat, sucking in air at the sight. Anti is in his kitchen. The Red Snake, eating with him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s wearing the man’s shirt and nothing more. Anti’s shirtless, scars exposed, and something tells the boy that not everyone has the chance to see him like that.

 

“That friend of yours,” Anti speaks, digging his fork into his food. “He’s very protective of you.”

 

He knows this is about Robin, so he purses his lips. “He means well. We’ve been through a lot together. I understand his worry… Especially after being kidnapped, I suppose.”

 

“I told you they won’t harm you again.”

 

Jack hums and he wonders if that bruise on the man’s cheek is from those men. Or if he took care of something else. He doesn’t dare to ask about it, only nods, and they sip from their drinks. There’s a hint of disappointment mixed with sadness when they finish breakfast, knowing that the cowboy will be gone for who knows how long. He gets up, placing the plates into the sink, and Anti mostly watches him. Jack doesn’t mind. It’s rather comforting by now. The freckled man follows him into the bedroom and the Irishman faces his bed, looking at those tousled sheets. He sighs and his hands go up to unbutton his shirt, slowly revealing his collarbone. Anti’s footsteps are behind him and, when Jack slides that black shirt down his shoulders, a hand there stops him. The brown-haired man freezes, hands holding onto a button, and the cowboy brushes his fingers on his back. Jack grimaces, aware of his own scars, and Anti’s caress touch a burn mark. On his left shoulder.

 

“Who really did this to you?” the freckled man murmurs and Jack doesn’t dare to look at him in the eyes, staring down at the mattress.

 

“You never asked and I want to keep it that way… You don’t seem to mind either, so it doesn’t matter.”

 

“Was it more than one? Was it that sh-”

 

“Anti,” Jack scowls, turning around and glaring at the cowboy. “Don’t you need to get dressed?”

  
  


The ginger-haired man takes a deep breath, eyes scanning the boy’s face. Anti says he likes Jack with that shirt. That he wants the Irishman to wear it while he fucks him. Jack’s cheeks redden but he keeps his scowl, making sure to tell the cowboy that he’s being annoying. Anti smirks and he pulls the brown-haired man closer by the waist, their noses almost brushing. Jack groans when the man grabs his ass cheeks again, and the Irishman slides his hand down his pants. Anti pushes them until they fall in bed with a huff and his heart races, spreading his legs. It’s incredible how easy it is for the cowboy to make him mewl, melting in bed, and Jack mumbles for him to move harder. The freckled man pants are down to his knees and the Irishman’s legs are up in the air, bend over underneath him. They pants, skin smacking, and they tease each other with tugs and bites. Jack groans, pulling on Anti’s hair, and the man growls into his ear. The brown-haired man curses out loud, throwing his head back, and every thrust makes him sing. His heart flutters and waves of pleasure consume him.

 

He breathless jokes about them breaking his bed and that only makes Anti move deeper, faster, ripping out a scream from Jack. He digs his nails into the cowboy’s back, holding onto him, and there’s not a single coherent thought in his mind. Anti fucks him without mercy, like there’s no tomorrow, but a light brush of lips over that burn mark makes Jack moan softly. He buries his face in the crook of the man’s neck, drooling, and their breathing is sharp. Anti murmurs something about doing this all day and Jack’s eyes roll back, cumming and spasming in bed. Fuck. Will he stay then? The Irishman shudders more when the man jizzes inside him and he pulls his ginger locks again to make him groan. Jack half whimpers, half mumbles that he needs to work today but Anti won’t let him. Ah, god. The boy can’t say no to that. He can’t deny that he wants to spend more time with the cowboy, even if it’s just in bed. He sighs, letting Anti lick his neck and thrust some more, and he hopes that he can handle all of this.

 

It’s heaven-like.

 

They pace themselves to rest and Jack rides him later, slowly and looking at him in the eyes. Anti’s hands hold him by the waist, lying down and letting the Irishman do what he wants. Jack graciously moves his hips back and forth, liking to hear the cowboy hum under his breath. He bites his bottom lip, enjoying every second of it, and he cums a second time with a quiet mewl. The Irishman’s jizz trickles down his cock, waves of orgasm gently hitting him, and Anti strokes him a couple of times. He lets the ginger-haired man fucks his mouth while he lies flat on the mattress and he hums when there’s a hand caressing his hair, a silent praise. He feels the man’s cock sliding in and out of his lips, a faint bulge on his throat, and he relaxes as much as he can. Anti sighs, also taking his time, and he pulls out to cum on Jack’s face. The Irishman closes his eyes and let his mouth open, tongue lolling out, and the cowboy urges him to sit up. The brown-haired man weakly does so, vision swimming, and he moans when the cowboy licks his face. They wrap their arms around each other and Anti plants more hickeys on his skin, until the boy is too tired to move.

 

They’re spread in bed, a thin layer of sweat on their bodies, and Jack lies on his stomach after another round to rest. Anti’s caressing his ass cheek and he buries his face into a pillow, taking a deep breath. He mutters something about the freckled man being the death of him and there’s a huff in the air. Anti lets him doze off for a bit, both tangled in sheets, and there are no dreams this time. If Jack’s heart clenches when waking up and being afraid of seeing an empty spot on his side, though, he doesn’t let it show. Sometimes they whisper slurred words, their voice hoarse and deep. The ginger-haired man takes him from behind and Jack’s moans are muffled into the pillow, shuffling with the cowboy’s thrusts, and the corners of his vision turn black from breathing too hard. He lets out a weak sob, eyes rolling back once again, but Anti is gentle. They keep having these tender moments between rough sex, and it does things to Jack. It’s something he never expected from Anti and he doesn’t feel scared to lose control with the man. When he thinks that he doesn’t have it in him anymore, the cowboy proves him wrong and milks him again.

 

Jack’s whole body is limp, sweating and tired. He groans when Anti pulls out after finishing, feeling his asshole sore. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, losing track of what’s around him, and his glassy eyes can’t focus on anything. Jack tries sitting up but swears under his breath, sliding off the bed and falling with weak legs. He supports himself in his arms, trembling, and there’s cum trickling down his ass. The brown-haired man knits his eyebrows, slipping into an unwelcome headspace for a second, and he remembers times like these. That he had to get up alone, in the cold. Covered in cum and bruises, not sure where he was anymore. Jack lets out a weak whimper, blinking heavily at the wooden floor, and he can’t move. He shouldn’t. No one told him what to do yet. There’s a warm hold on his shoulders and he flinches.

 

“Seán.”

 

Jack looks up to see Anti right next to him and it’s the first time the cowboy has called him by his real name. The man touches his arm, gently pulling him up, but the boy shakes his head.

 

“N-No, I… I can do this m-myself…” he says, brushing it off, but that only makes Anti slide an arm under his legs and lift him up bridal-style. Jack sighs. “You’re so fucking stubborn...”

 

“So are you, angel,” the ginger-haired man murmurs, using that nickname again, and he places him in bed. “Stay here.”

 

Anti walks out butt-naked and the Irishman purses his lips, dragging a hand over his face. God, he’s a fucking mess. He hears shuffling and the freckled man comes back from the bathroom, only to pick up Jack once again. The boy asks what he’s doing, but wraps his arms around the man’s shoulders, and Anti murmurs about a bath. The Irishman frowns. The cowboy never bothered to take care of Jack, not like that. He tells the man that there’s no need, that he can do that alone, but Anti insists. The copper-haired man puts him down in the bathtub and Jack flushes when he enters as well, facing him. It’s strange to have the Red Snake cleaning him, picking up a sponge and lightly brushing his arms. Jack huffs with a weak smile, finding that ridiculous but endearing. He washes Anti’s face too, hands sliding down to his chest, and there are bubbles in the water. When the cowboy rests his back against the tub, the Irishman comes closer to sit on his lap, and he giggles when covering the man’s beard with soap bubbles. He says Anti never looked better and the freckled man hums, calm.

 

The cowboy touches his ass cheeks and Jack gasps, so sensitive. He’s slow, cleaning the Irishman, and his rough hands are soothing. The boy rests his cheek against the man’s chest, lying there, and it’s so comfortable. They just fit. Good god. He didn’t know how badly he needed this until now. He caresses Anti’s hair and they just rest in the bathtub, without any rush. He can’t help but say that the freckled man is beautiful, lost in those green eyes of his, and he asks if Anti finds him pretty. The ginger-haired man takes a deep breath, the Irishman rising up and down at that move, and his fingers trace the boy’s back so gently.

 

“There’s a reason why I call you angel.”

 

The corners of Jack’s mouth curl into a silly smile, a soft chuckle under his breath, and they leave the bathtub soon after that. Anti still tries carrying the Irishman but he’s fine, drying himself and batting the man’s hands away. Jack’s stomach growls, hungry after wasting so much energy, but too tired to cook something properly. They gather some cheese and jerky beef to eat in bed, sharing a piece of bread. Jack asks if the cowboy will stay another night but he shakes his head. It’s late afternoon, so they doze off and wake up only to plant light bites on each other. Pecking their necks or just sighing into their ears, enjoying the last hours together. Legs tangling and bodies warm, each time more intimate than before. It awakes something in their hearts. Jack can’t be seeing things, he’s not the only one feeling this. Every time Anti looks at him, there’s a pang in his heart. A thin line down into his stomach. Butterflies. Goosebumps and shy smiles. And every time Jack looks at the cowboy, he falls even more.

 

Like a shooting star.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited, 06/18:
> 
> Hey guys!
> 
> I will be taking a break from writing. That means there will be no chapter update in Of Burning Stars on Emerald Rain. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately and I have to say that I’m sorry... I’ve never paused a fic in the middle like this, only when I travel. I haven’t been writing for the past two weeks and I’m really tired. I’m so sorry to disappoint you guys and I know some of you really look forward to the new chapters, but I need a break. I’m feeling burnout and lately I wanna mostly draw. I’ve been always like that: I can’t do two things at once, I focus only on one thing. I’ll finish the story, of course! I’ll be back to posting after a while, I won’t leave it unfinished forever! I just need a month or something, I don’t know. Plus, the way the last chapter ended was a nice breaking point. It will be like a new arc next time. So, to me, it makes some sense. I have tons of AU ideas still and I will write more stories too, of course!! I’m not stoping that. I’m a bit exhausted of long-fics at the moment and I’ll try writing some casual one-shots whenever I feel like. Again, so sorry, but I really need to do this for myself. I’m still here to talk whenever, though. Thank you so much for understanding! I'll be back ;u;


	7. Tears Under Sunlight

Jack watches the man get dressed through half-lidded eyes, lazily spread in his bed, and Anti doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. He seems more rested and the Irishman is happy to know that, both liking that day together. Jack wraps his sheets around him like a blanket when getting up, wanting to walk the man to the door, and the night has fallen already. It’s late and yet he wishes this could continue. The ginger-haired man stands on his porch, looking down at the boy, and Jack can’t wait for them to see each other again. They exchange a look, noses brushing, and they touch their waist. Anti lightly bumps his fingers under the Irishman’s chin, murmuring that he’ll come back, and he calls the boy angel once more. Jack’s heart flutters, leaning in more so they can brush their cheeks together with a hum, and the cowboy steps back. The brown-haired man rests his shoulder on his doorframe, seeing him leave, but it feels like Anti takes a piece of him that time.

 

He tries not to think about it too much.

 

In the next day, he meets Robin. His friend says he was a bit worried that the boy didn’t show up yesterday. Jack flushes, whispering that he was with Anti, and Ethan perks up at that with a grin. The tips of the Irishman’s ears burn, biting his bottom lip to hold back a smile, but Robin points out a hickey under his shirt collar. They chuckle at him and Jack shushes them, joining their laughter. When they ask for details, he can’t resist but say that Anti is incredible. That despite being so rough, he can be so gentle and sweet. They know that the cowboy has stopped paying the Irishman and that he stayed because he wanted to. It was wonderful and Robin seems relieved that they had a good time together. Just to warn him next time. The brown-haired man huffs, rubbing the back of his neck, but nods. Ethan teases him and Jack ruffles his hair, urging them to go back to work.

 

As the days go by, Anti shows up more often. Twice a week. Everyone that works at the bar just greets him by now, used to the man. Sometimes he climbs up the window, jumpscaring Jack again, and they will bicker before falling in bed. He catches the cowboy sketching on a small book after they have sex, smoking in bed, and he smiles when realizing that the freckled man is drawing him. Rough hands smudged with charcoal. The Irishman murmurs something about Anti liking him, tangled in sheets and with a hazy look, and there’s just a grunt as an answer. Jack gets used to the smell of tobacco, stealing the man’s cigarette sometimes to drag of it himself, and Anti will watch him through long eyelashes. The brown-haired man wants to provoke him, to make the cowboy want to kiss the boy. They keep teasing, pushing each other until they’re a mess in bed, covered in bruises and charcoal.

 

They are at that clearing today, where no one is around, and Jack likes their times together there. He’s wearing a white shirt with suspenders, liking this sunny day and breeze, and he leans against a tree. Anti walks up to him, his shadow casting down at the boy, and he places an arm above his head. Jack looks up at him, pulling him closer by the coat, and their noses touch. Their eyes fall down to their mouths and the Irishman moves just enough to brush their lips once, only to have the man gently push him back. A hand on Jack’s throat. Narrowed eyes locked on blue. The brown-haired man sighs but he likes when Anti brushes his thumb on his bottom lip. Jack’s lips part, tongue sliding out, and the cowboy draws in air when the boy lightly sucks on his thumb. The Irishman keeps looking at him and Anti moves his finger into his wet mouth before pulling back, a low groan under his breath. He holds Jack by the waist, pressing him against the tree, and the Irishman giggles when he’s lifted off the ground. His legs lock around Anti and there’s a warm tongue licking his neck, nibbling his skin.

 

“A-Anti,” Jack breathes and he lets out a shaky moan when the man moves his hips. “Not… Not during the day… Not h-here...”

 

The cowboy grunts, tightening their hold before letting go, and the Irishman clears his throat. Anti tugs on his suspenders and they sit down on the grass, still more close than they should be. Jack rests his head against the tree, holding back a smile with flushed cheeks, and the freckled man scratches his beard with a sigh. He runs his fingers through ginger locks and Jack watches him take a new carved piece from his coat. His blue eyes fall down to it, seeing a rabbit this time, and Anti says he saw one on the road yesterday. That he killed so their camp could have more food. The Irishman holds it, knitting his eyebrows, and the cowboy asks if he hunts. Jack shakes his head. He knows finishing, but he doesn’t hunt other animals. He wouldn’t even know where to start and he doesn’t even have a gun. He glances down at Anti’s golden pistols and the man takes one out, spinning in his hand easily before putting it back on his holster.

 

“Show off,” Jack says and the man winks. “Are you going to teach me, then?”

 

The ginger-haired man looks around, seeing Domino eating some grass. “Yes,” he answers and the boy wasn't expecting him to take that seriously. “But you’re gonna need a horse.”

 

Even though Jack explains that he couldn’t afford to buy one, Anti just ignores his comments and tells him to hop on Domino. The Irishman rolls his eyes, thinking he’s stubborn, but does what he’s told. It’s easy to convince Jack to follow him, as long as it means they can spend more time together. He stays behind Anti, holding onto his waist, and Domino takes them away with heavy huffs. They leave Vincent Town and Jack sees mountains from afar, their shape a beautiful background while they wander through fields. His hair moves with the breeze and he tightens his hands around Anti, resisting the urge to rest his cheek on the man’s back. The cowboy whistles for Domino to slow down when they reach a farm and Jack’s eyes find a a large stable, with big wooden doors. Anti pulls on the reins, horse shuffling in place, and an old man comes over to them while asking what they want in his property. Anti murmurs he heard the man had good horses, that he’s looking for one, and the old farmer nods. He says he doesn’t want any trouble though, narrowing his eyes at the freckled man, and Anti tilts his hat.

 

They get off the horse and the cowboy hitches Domino outside before they enter the stable. There’s a strong scent inside and Jack scrunches up his nose at that, but looks around to see a bunch of horses locked in place. He asks Anti how he’ll know which one will be the best, but the cowboy just tells him to take a look. The Irishman purses his lips, nervous, and he steps forward while seeing those animals. He stops to look at each one, listening to them nicker, and he pats some with the help of that old man. There’s one near the middle, of a brown and white color, that calls his attention. The farmer says it’s the best mare he has, that she’s calm but really fast. Jack stares at her and she huffs, blinking with dark brown eyes. The white on her head is diamond-shaped, down to her nostrils, and her hair is like gold. The farmer lets him walk inside her stable and he caresses her neck, feeling her take a deep breath. Jack smiles and he turns his face to see Anti, hands in his pockets.

 

“We’ll want her,” the freckled man says.

 

The farmer puts on some reins and guides her out, saying something about them needing a saddle. Anti talks with the guy while Jack chooses one and he sees the cowboy giving his money. The tips of the Irishman’s ears burn but he sets everything up for his horse, talking to her under his breath. When they leave, Anti asks for permission to the farmer if they can practice a bit and he nods, keeping an eye on them in the background. Jack swallows, whispering that he’s anxious, and the cowboy pats his cheek before urging him to hop on the horse. The Irishman sighs, holding onto his saddle, and he pushes himself up. The mare shakes her head, but stays in place, and he pats her with a beating heart. Anti looks up at him.

 

“Feel her breathing. Take a deep breath along with her.” Jack does so, listening to Anti. “Relax your body, let yourself be carried with her movements. Trust her.”

 

Jack draws in air and his horse does it too, nickering. The ginger-haired man steps back, telling him what to do, and the Irishman gently moves the reigns forward to make her walk. He lets out a nervous chuckle when she steps forward, her hooves making a soft sound in the low grass. Anti keeps going backwards and Jack presses his thighs against the horse, lightly hitting his feet to make her trot. The copper-haired man goes to Domino then, whistling to join Jack. The brown-haired man giggles again, more relaxed, and it feels amazing to be in control of such a beautiful animal. To create this bond and trust one another. She’s gorgeous and Anti salutes the farmer before they turn around to leave. Jack doesn’t hurry, not knowing how to ride properly yet, and the cowboy stays by his side with Domino. He has a silly smile on his face, both of them on the road, and he glances at the freckled man. Anti hums, teaching him a few commands on the way, and the boy pays attention.

 

God, he’ll need to think of a name! He can’t believe this. Anti bought a fucking horse for him. Jack’s excited, wanting to take care of her, but he also doesn’t want to mess that up. The man gave her for a reason too, right? He wanted to teach him how to hunt. The brown-haired man radiates happiness, trotting, and he tries speeding up a bit. Anti follows, telling him to correct his pose, and they slowly make their way back to that clearing. Jack pulls the reins back, clicking his tongue, and his mare neighs when coming to a stop. She shakes her head, light hair moving, and they hop back down. Domino looks at the new horse, ears perked up at that, but they seem just fine. Jack goes to Anti, smiling, and he holds back the urge to jump into his arms. He thanks the man, saying that he didn’t have to do that, but Anti just tells him to take good care of her. The Irishman nods and they both caress his mare’s neck. Her pose is relaxed and she huffs, batting her tail lightly. He’ll have to build a small stable for her. God, and food! Even though this was sudden, he can’t wait to do all of that.

 

They practice some more during the day. Jack’s heart beats fast when his horse finally runs around the clearing, holding onto her, and he keeps smiling at the cowboy. They stay until the sun sets, lying down on the grass and resting, horses wandering close by. He blinks at the sky, getting darker as time passes, and the first star twinkles far away. He turns his face to look at Anti, thinking he’s more captivating each time, and his heart clenches. The copper-haired man stares back at him, taking a deep breath, and Jack slowly moves to be on top of him. Anti’s hands find his waist easily and the boy’s sapphire eyes are locked on emerald, looming over him. Only the sound of crickets and leaves dancing with the wind. Anti brushes his knuckles on the Irishman’s cheek, asking if he can have him. The man’s voice is low and Jack can’t resist it. A chill wave of excitement hits him at the thought of them being so intimate out in the open, now that night has fallen. They’re hidden but they still need to be quiet. He nods and they carefully just push their pants down, not quite taking their clothes off. They’re chest-to-chest, only shuffling lightly, and Jack pants into his ear.

 

It’s a thrill and fear mixed all together, being with Anti. Not towards the man, no. Not at all. The possibility of them being caught or them being watched. It makes the Irishman bite his lips harder not to moan, tugging on Anti’s hair. Jack moves his hips, hands clutching onto grass, and the man’s hold is strong on his hips. It doesn’t take much time for them to find their release, wanting just a quick fuck for now, but it’s breathtaking nonetheless. Anti’s the one that fixes Jack’s clothes, putting up his pants and sliding the suspenders back over the boy’s shoulders. It’s him that takes the Irishman’s hand to help him standing up. Jack’s knees give out once but the man catches him with a huff. The boy flushes when seeing him smirk. He mumbles that Anti is the worse but there’s no bite in his tone of voice, and the man bumps his nose against his cheek. They sigh, hands clinging onto their clothes before saying goodbye, but knowing they will meet again tomorrow.

 

Jack wonders, when he’s alone, what Anti is doing. The Irishman lies in bed awake at night, horse safe and sound in his backyard, and he remembers that question the man did a while ago. About him sleeping with other men. Jack felt offended back at the time, but now he’s wondering the same towards Anti. Even though the boy hasn’t lay with anyone else other than him lately, he hasn’t told that to the cowboy. So what would stop Anti from sleeping with others? And why does it bother Jack so much now? It’s not difficult to imagine women and men falling for him, wanting to see how he is behind closed doors. The brown-haired man purses his lips, cursing his aching heart, and the thought of someone else seeing his scars makes his stomach twist. Someone touching them, caressing his ginger hair. Jack sighs, shutting his eyes hard enough to see colorful dots, and he longs for the man’s company. Does Anti feel that? Does he think of the boy when he lies down? The Irishman glances at those carved pieces on his nightstand, slowly turning into a collection. It sure looks like he does… Right?

 

He calls his mare Sunlight.

 

Robin and all his friends come out of the saloon to look at him, smiling on top of his horse. They find her beautiful and Marlene says Anti is courting him. Jack flushes and denies it, explaining that he’ll teach the boy how to hunt and track some small animals. Nothing more. Jack’s smile falters, catching a glimpse of the sheriff from afar, and he purses his lips. Felix tilts his hat and the Irishman looks away, getting off his horse and entering the saloon. Robin knows he’ll be leaving after lunch to meet the cowboy, so Jack makes sure to do a good work in the morning. He pushes away an annoyance over seeing Felix, falling down in the pit of his stomach, and he tries not to think about old memories. Overall, things go smoothly and he spends his time talking with Ethan and Marlene. Jack finds himself happy, but alas, something always have to happen and ruin him. He shouldn’t be caught off guard by that and yet, it’s still terrifying to step out of the saloon and have the sheriff pull him further back until no one sees them.

 

Felix covers his mouth and Jack’s groan is muffled, knitting his eyebrows and thrashing himself. There’s a firm grip on his arm and the man pushes him against a wall, shushing him. Jack’s heart races, breathing losing pace, and he wants out. _Out._ They’re too close and Felix says that if he screams, he’ll make everyone watch something terrible. It’s not an empty threat. Jack knows him. He’s not lying and his words are enough to make him freeze. The Irishman refuses to look at him still, pupils wide down at the ground, and he tries calming down. Felix squeezes his cheeks then, hard enough to dig his nails into skin, and Jack grunts with a scowl. He hates this. He hates how little he feels, so quickly, and how his whole body shivers.

 

“I’m so sorry I scared you, doll,” Felix whispers and the Irishman grimaces at that familiar nickname. “I just wanted to talk to you for a moment, I promise I won’t be long.” The corners of Jack’s eyes burn with unshed tears and tries making himself smaller, shoulders tensing up. “I’m getting a bit jealous, I must admit… You’ve been spending too much time with that cowboy of yours.”

 

“F-Fuck off…” Jack mutters, words choked up by the man’s hand.

 

“Is he better than me? Is he? Does he fucks you from behind, just the way you like?”

 

The brown-haired man holds back a whimper, nostrils flaring, and he wants to disappear. He wants to scream. Felix shakes him, urging him to look at the man, and Jack sees his grey eyes for a split second. He grinds his teeth and pushes the sheriff back, but the man shoves him backwards once more. Jack’s back hits the wall harder and he gasps when there’s the sound of torn fabric. Felix murmurs something about proving the boy wrong, a knife on his hand ripping his blue shirt, and Jack’s heart skips to his throat. He brings his knee up, kicking the sheriff between his legs, and there’s a loud groan. The brown-haired man runs away, wide eyes seeking for Sunlight, and he whistles before hastily untying her from the post. He rides her and his horse runs fast, leaving dust behind. Jack’s chest hurts, a bubble of cry stuck in his throat, and he just _goes._ Tears blur his vision, streaming down his face, and he pulls the reins to slow Sunlight down. It takes him a moment to realize that he brought them to the clearing and he just clumsily falls off the horse.

 

Grass brushes against his cheek and he sits under a tree, covering his face. That awful feeling that he had all morning crashes down, poisoned by Felix’s touch and memories. Jack wishes to never see that man again. He’s a fool to think that he could get rid of him so easily too. The Irishman weeps, heart aching, but he forces himself not to make a sound. To keep that scream inside. His face scrunches up, fat tears smearing his cheeks, and his shoulders shake. Jack reminds himself of who he is, what he does. Why truly Anti seek for him. It stings, knowing that Felix is not entirely wrong. An ugly choked sound leaves his lips, snot running down his nose, and he doesn’t know how much time passes. Sunlight stays near him, huffing, and he rests his back against a tree. Jack hugs himself, wanting to stop thinking, and he glares so hard that his head hurts. He hears shuffling and he tenses up, lifting his head only to see Anti walking into the clearing with Domino. Jack immediately wipes his face, sniffing, and the cowboy knit his eyebrows when coming to a stop.

 

The Irishman looks away, taking a deep shaky breath, and he hears Anti walking up to him. There’s a pause and he feels the man’s gaze.

  

“Who did this to you?”

 

In a hurry to leave, Jack didn’t even take a look at himself. He looks down to see his shirt cut in different parts, one side of his suspenders broken. His left shoulder is showing, shirt pulled too hard, and there are buttons missing. He presses his lips together, ashamed to be seen like this, and he shakes his head. Anti crunches down next to him and the Irishman sighs before looking at the man. He’s wearing a dark green coat, eyes standing out, and he’s scowling so hard. Jack wants to soothe that way. He flinches when Anti raises a hand and the freckled man clenches his jaw, slowly moving to touch the boy’s cheek. He thinks there must be half-moon marks from Felix’s grip and that thought makes him nauseous. Still, Jack relaxes and a tear falls from his eye at that tender touch. So different from that man. Anti wipes that tear away, sighing.

 

“You c-can’t go after him…” Jack murmurs, blinking softly at the cowboy’s caress. “Felix wants any excuse to lock you up. Y-You are not wanted in our town but… He’ll find a reason.“

 

Jack lets Anti pull him closer and he rests his face under the man’s chin, wrapping his arms around him. The copper-haired man is quiet and the boy is safe in his hold, liking to be between his legs. They should be practicing and Jack’s worried to be wasting the man’s time, but they don’t move from there. The Irishman breathes into his scent and Anti asks if he wants to go. He shakes his head, saying he doesn’t want to go back right now. He wants to be far away from that town. The freckled man nods once but urges him to get up, and Jack frowns at that. Anti takes off his green coat, putting it over the boy, and he guides him by the hand. The cowboy ties their horses’ reins together, making sure Sunlight will be following Domino’s side, and the Irishman questions where they’re going then. Voice weak, feeling numb. Anti makes him get on top of Domino and he holds the man from behind, grateful that he wants them to ride together. The ginger-haired man clicks his tongue, horses following his lead, and Jack’s taken aback by his words.

 

“We’re going to my camp.”

 

It never crossed his mind that Anti would ever bring him there.

 

Does that mean he trusts the boy? Jack rests his face on the man’s back this time, tired, and he closes his eyes while they move. Anti covers the boy’s hand with his and the Irishman whispers about his horse’s name. The cowboy likes Sunlight, saying he picked a good one, and the ride is mostly quiet. Jack calms down while they go, focusing on now, and it’s a relief to know Vincent Town is fading behind their back.

 

Jack perks up when they slow down into a forest, sun close to setting, and they pass by tall trees and bushes. There’s a faint path and a voice calls out, asking who’s there. He sees someone coming out from behind a tree, carrying a shotgun, and Anti greets the man. Jack looks over the cowboy’s shoulder to see the end of the path, revealing their camp in a large clearing. There are tents, wagons, horses here and there. A lake far on the other side. Everyone is walking around calmly, greeting each other, but they notice Jack’s presence. The boy swallows and Anti comes to a stop near a post to hitch their horses. Once they stand on soft grass, the ginger-haired man doesn’t give him much time to look around and just guides him into the camp. Jack feels so many eyes on him but he just follows the man. Someone shows up, immediately talking to Anti while they walk, and he has long light hair. He mentions a house that they want to steal from and Jack presses his lips together.

 

“Not now,” Anti waves a hand, dismissing.

 

The light-haired man glances at the boy, frowning. “Who’s that?”

 

“I said not _now_!”

 

Anti huffs, stopping in front of a white tent, and he opens it so the Irishman can walk inside. They’re left alone and Jack steps on a wooden platform, crossing his arms while looking around. There’s a bed in the left corner and a chest next to it, with an oil lamp and knick knacks. A table across from it, papers scattered over it, and he sees a knife stuck into the table. Anti goes towards that chest, looking for something, and Jack turns his face to see some leather boxes with clothes. He knits his eyebrows. Anti brought him to where he stays. He sleeps there. The freckled man tosses him one of his black shirts, murmuring for him to change, and the Irishman takes off the green coat. He looks down at himself with a sigh and rolls up that torn outfit, getting dressed with that new one. It smells of the man, musky and a hint of citric, and he likes how more loose it is on him. Jack has to tuck the shirt into his pants and Anti watches him, waiting. The freckled man tells him to wash his face, pointing at a corner for a cleaning area. There’s a dresser with a bucket, a mirror and a razor for shaving. Jack pictures the cowboy trimming his beard in the mornings, brushing his hair, and that puts a small smile on his face. He puts himself together and he’s grateful that no one will see him in that state from before.

 

Jack stares at Anti once he’s done, feeling a bit more like himself, and the man seems satisfied with that. Someone calls for the freckled man and they both take a deep breath, exchanging a look. Jack’s not stupid. He knows that he shouldn’t be there in the first place and that no one trusts him. They’re probably wondering who he is, wanting answers from the leader. There’s a thin line of anxiety going down into his stomach but the man goes towards him first, lifting the boy’s chin with his fingers. Anti’s emerald eyes seek for him and Jack leans into the touch, nodding at a silent question if he’s ready. They step out of his tent, the Irishman behind him, and everyone seems to have been waiting. Men and women are standing across from them, some sitting on crates and narrowing their eyes, and Jack’s like a fish out of water. There’s a long silence before a voice reaches their ears, making the boy grimace.

 

“Are we bringing our bitches here now?”

 

They both turn their faces towards a blond-haired man and Anti takes out one of his pistols, shooting near the man’s feet. Everyone jumps out of their skin at the sound and Jack gasps, watching the guy yelp and fall on his ass from the fright. The Irishman’s heart races, eyebrows going up, and he looks at Anti. The man’s scowling, golden pistol still in hand, and the blond-haired man swears out loud.

 

“If someone calls him that again,” Anti warns them. “Next time, I won’t fucking miss.”

 

The guy stands up, raising his hands in the air and apologizing, and Jack knits his eyebrows.

 

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he says and everyone stares at him. “I have a name and it’s Jack. Do you want me to spell it for you?”

 

There’s snickering between them and they look at that guy, waiting for an answer. He grumbles but waves a hand, forgetting about it. The Irishman huffs and Anti smirks for a second.

 

The freckled man makes a motion with his pistols towards the boy. “Y’all heard him. Are we clear?”

 

Some of them nod, others chuckle, but they seem to relax a bit. That guy from before that talked to Anti comes over and he extends a hand towards Jack. The Irishman glances at the ginger-haired man, then at the person, hesitating a bit but shaking his hand. The man says his name is Tucker, the Butcher, and Jack’s eyebrows go up at that. The Irishman has heard of him before and the long-haired man seems flattered that his reputation is known. Anti puts his pistol back in his holster and tells him to show Jack the place while he discuss some business. The brown-haired man doesn’t really want to be apart from the cowboy but he stays quiet, watching him go. Tucker scratches the back of his head, apologizing for some of their behavior with a chuckle, and the boy shrugs. He knows that they are all trying to protect their camp and are suspicious. He follows the light-haired man, a bit unsure, but he listens to Tucker saying who they are. Many names he recalls hearing from folks in his town, news about murders and bank robbery, and it’s surreal that he’s in the middle of them. At least that distracts him from thinking of a certain sheriff.

 

“That’s Jimmy Gold Fingers there,” Tucker murmurs and there’s a dark-haired man leaning against a crate while smoking with someone. “Bet you heard ‘bout him too. He’s fast with a gun, alright…”

 

Jack nods and he meets Crazy Maddie and Silvertongue Ashley, both ladies are known to persuade any men that crosses their way and getting what they want. The first one has brown hair, with beautiful curls, and she winks at him. Ashley is blonde, hair tied up in a ponytail, and she salutes him. Some folks are playing domino, drinking and chatting. There are wagons with foods and more supplies, more tents and a fire. Someone is stirring a metal pot, preparing their dinner, and the smell hits his nostrils. It’s delicious and it hits him that he hasn’t eaten since morning. He holds back a sigh, cursing a certain man for running that day, and he’s in awe by that gorgeous lake on the end. It’s a good spot, peaceful and away from people’s eyes. They’re well hidden and the sunset is beautiful there. Tucker makes him snort at some comments, finding the man funny, and he points at two young men. They are playing poker and they have light brown hair, shorter than Jack.

 

“Those are the The Roy Twins. Best of you to stay away from them. Those little demons like some shenanigans.”

 

It’s a lot to process but he’s fascinated. Curious. He does feel exposed in a way, aware that they know about what he and Anti have been doing, but he wants to know more. He’s also wondering why the cowboy brought him there. Anti could have taken him _anywhere,_ but he chose his camp. He’s so mysterious, never quite sharing much about his life, so that definitely surprised the boy. Jack stares at that lake, seeing light ripples from the wind, and Anti’s shirt brushes against his skin. He closes his eyes, listening to tree leaves dancing, and Tucker asks if he’ll eat with them. The Irishman runs a hand through his hair, turning around to see everyone gathering around the fire while night falls, and Anti is on the other side. Their eyes meet and the freckled man makes a motion with his chin, calling for him. Jack’s lips part, taking a deep breath, and he nods.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I guess I will.”

 

There are tree trunks around the fire, enough for everyone to settle down, and the Irishman shuffles on his feet, not knowing where to go. He takes a step forward, going towards Anti, but Tucker calls him instead. Jack sits next to the man and he introduces Arin, Short Temper. The Irishman snorts at the title, rubbing the back of his neck in an anxious manner, and they give him a bowl of stew. He thanks them and he finds the ginger-haired man across from him, emerald meeting sapphire. The fire cracks between them and the stars begin to twinkle. There’s muffled chatting and cutlery noises, and Jack can’t help but smile at Anti. It’s a shy one, so no one can see it but them. The freckled man winks at him and the Irishman’s cheeks redden, looking down to eat some food. Arin makes him laugh, eyes turning into half-moons, and that tension from before slowly fades. The stew warms him and he drinks a bit of whiskey, making a face when it slides down his throat. Anti smokes and they keep stealing glances every now and then. It’s not how he expected that day to go.

 

But he doesn’t regret it.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After almost two months and a few weeks later with 120 hours of The Sims 4 gameplay… I’m back! Thank you so much for everyone’s kind comments and patience! I was really feeling burnout and tired of writing, I was a bit lost there for a hot minute. I’m back to writing and, as you can see, there is an official number of chapters to come. I’m still in the process of writing the last 3 chapters but I’m very happy with it! I know what to do and I’m content to be working again!! I want to thank [Lace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacemaze/pseuds/lacemaze), [Lee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egotisticalee/pseuds/egotisticalee) and [Galaxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyKitty/pseuds/GalaxyKitty) for an amazing support throughout this break, especially in these lasts couple of days. Check them out too, they’re all great and good friends!!! I also wanna say that I loved naming Anti’s gang in this chapter and I couldn’t wait to show you guys! I hope everyone likes it! See you all next Wednesday! :D  
>  
> 
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> [Storyboard](https://pinterest.com/sparklepines/of-burning-stars-on-emerald-rain/)  
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> 


	8. Words Will Pull Your Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Small description of animal death and skinning. Nothing major, but please, proceed with care!**

Jack gets tipsy.

 

His stomach is full and he’s warm, enjoying the fire. Light giggles escape from his lips, listening to Anti’s gang exchanging stories and mocking themselves. It’s been a while since he last felt a buzz and he takes another sip from his cup, limps more heavy. The copper-haired man watches him in the night. The flames flickering in his emerald eyes are mesmerizing and Jack holds back a hiccup. Someone is playing a banjo and some are singing, everything blending in, and he just zones out. He blinks and there’s a shadow before him. The Irishman looks up, seeing Anti standing in front of him, and the man makes a motion with his hand. Jack gets up, losing some of his balance, but the cowboy stops him by the shoulders. Anti pulls him by the wrist and the boy flushes when there are whistles behind them, heart skipping a beat. The freckled man guides them towards his tent, both getting inside, and the background noise is muffled. Jack knits his eyebrows and he mumbles, asking if he’ll need to go now, even though he doesn’t want to. Anti’s back is turned to him, boy still standing by the entrance, and he brings Jack a cup of water.

 

“Drink this,” he says and the boy frowns at the thin cup, holding it. “You’re not going anywhere like this.”

 

“Oh… Okay.”

 

Jack drinks, world swimming every so slightly, and he eyes that oil lantern next to the bed. It’s casting an orange glow in the dim room and Anti’s hair looks even more beautiful like that. He tries saying something about it, but his tongue is heavy. The man goes to his dresser, unbuttoning his shirt, and Jack’s eyes fall down to his exposed back. He hiccups, dragging a hand over his face, and he puts the cup down at the table before approaching the cowboy. Jack rests his cheek between Anti’s shoulder blades, hands touching his waist, wrapping around him to feel that light happy trail. He closes his eyes, humming, and his fingers slide into the man’s pants. Anti stops him, grabbing his wrists, and Jack frowns when he turns around to look at him. The ginger-haired man tells him to go to sleep and the Irishman blinks slowly, eyelashes batting against porcelain skin. He makes a face, not getting this man, and his heart flutters.

 

“Why… Why are you being... nice to me?” Jack whispers, words slurred. “I don’t get it.”

 

“You just need some rest, angel.”

 

Anti caresses his cheek and the Irishman blames the alcohol for tearing up, liking that soft touch. He swallows, nodding, and he hugs the cowboy. The man wraps his arms around him and Jack asks if he can stay. There’s a hum and Anti undresses him with care, taking off his shirt, and the boy shivers at his hands. The copper-haired man sighs into his neck, fingers tracing his scars, and he murmurs that he likes Jack’s narrow waist. That he’s small. The Irishman’s too tired to fight back that comment, so he lets himself be carried to bed. They take off their shoes and pants, getting under the covers. There’s so much more that he wants to talk but all that comes out of his mouth is a grumble, saying he likes when the man calls him angel. Anti huffs and his lips brush on Jack’s forehead, a light bump. He turns off that lantern, leaving them in the dark, and the Irishman clings onto him, ready to fall asleep. This time, he doesn’t dream. Sleep too heavy and body exhausted from that day.

 

The birds sing in the morning but what stirs him awake is a caress.

 

Jack’s lying on his side, back against the tent fabric, and he opens his eyes to see Anti brushing fingers on his waist. The Irishman hums, stretching, and the man’s eyes follow his move. He cleans his eyes, clearing his throat, and he looks at Anti with sleepy eyes. He ducks his head, worried about morning breath, and the freckled man snorts. Jack gets comfortable, resting his head under the man’s chin, and he looks down at Anti’s body. He traces the cowboy’s muscles, seeing them tense up and relax, and he brushes a finger over a nipple. Anti’s ribcage moves up and down with his breathing and they both caress one another, liking that quiet morning. Jack’s mind is clear and he recalls where he is. He pecks Anti’s neck, thanking him for yesterday, and he feels the man’s grunt. He giggles when the ginger-haired man turns to be on top of him, legs tangling under the covers, and they lazily move their hips. Anti cups his ass cheeks, bumping his nose on the Irishman’s neck, and his lips part at the feeling. They give another shy thrust, lazy from sleep, and a moan is on the tip of Jack’s tongue when someone calls for the cowboy.

 

“Hey, Red, are y-” Arin walks in and immediately turns his face away, hands up to cover his eyes. “Oh my _god!_ Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m… I s-should probably leave!”

 

The brown-haired man gasps, heart racing, and Anti groans. He shields the boy with his body, scowling and telling him to get out. Arin yells another apology and leaves, cheeks burning red. Jack’s mouth falls open, a bubbly laughter reaching their ears, and his shoulders shake. Anti purses his lips, upset that they were interrupted, but he sighs while looking down at the boy. The Irishman bites his bottom lip, holding back a smile, and he tugs on the freckled man’s beard. Anti whispers that they should get ready and eat something, then. That they’ll be practicing today and that he won’t be easy on the Irishman. Jack raises an eyebrow. Alright, that’s fair enough. He can take that. The ginger-haired man sits up, pushing away the covers, and the boy sighs when missing his warmth. He takes the man’s shirt, putting it on again while standing up, and Anti washes his face. Jack rinses his mouth, both of them slowly getting ready, but he mostly procrastinate by looking around the tent.

 

Jack’s eyes find a couple of drawings on that table and he brushes his fingers over them, seeing houses and animals sketched by the cowboy. There’s a leather journal, the one Jack’s sure that there are pictures of him, but Anti calls him out so he won’t open it. The brown-haired man sees some new wood pieces, not carved yet, and he smiles.

 

“What is this one gonna be?” he asks, holding one to show to Anti. “A wolf, maybe?”

 

The man’s putting on his boots, sitting in bed, and he shrugs. Jack hums, putting it back in place, and his eyes find that knife still stuck into the table. He narrows his eyes, seeing the letters A.D. engraved in silver, and he wonders what that means. Anti pulls him away from his thoughts, his hands gently wrapping around the boy’s waist, and he whispers for him to get dressed. Jack’s still only with the man’s shirt and he hums, wishing he could spend all day like that. However, he does what he’s told and Anti leaves the tent first to make sure everyone is awake. The Irishman squints his eyes when stepping out, morning sun hitting his skin, and he sees Arin cooking them food. He goes to the man, rubbing the back of his neck, and they exchange a look. Arin’s cheeks redden again and he apologizes for earlier, but Jack only snorts while saying the same. They let out a chuckle, both embarrassed, and he serves himself some food. Anti’s talking to Jimmy Gold Fingers in an open tent, light gestures and glaring at a map on a table. The ginger-haired man looks at him for a moment, hands on his hips, and Jack ducks his head. Tucker comes over, greeting by ruffling the boy’s hair, and they hang out for a bit.

 

It’s Arin who mentions how the Red Snake has eyes only for Jack and Tucker murmurs something about never seeing him like that with others. The Irishman knits his eyebrows.

 

“Did he ever bring anyone else here?”

 

“No, not here… But he was fooling around with other people until a while ago. Guess you put a leash o-”

 

Arin shoves Tucker’s shoulder, shushing him, and Jack scowls more. That doubt he had from before brushes in his heart, of the man seeking others while they were apart, and it bothers him. He puts his plate down, thanking them for the food, and he excuses himself. Jack ignores Arin hastily whispering at Tucker, walking away, and he crosses his arms. The Irishman stops by a tree, resting his back against it, and he stares at that lake. Goddamnit. Of course he’s not the only one. How foolish of him to think he was special. Jack’s heart aches, knowing it shouldn’t upset him that much but it does. Anti was being so gentle last night, taking care of him, and he liked that a lot. This morning was also calm and he likes waking up next to the cowboy. Anti is so clumsy and affectionate when he’s tired, it’s endearing. The thought of him doing those things with other men and women stings. It doesn’t settle right in his stomach. Should he even feel that possessive over the freckled man?

 

Jack hears footsteps against grass and he turns his face to see Anti, carrying a rifle. The copper-haired man murmurs the boys set some stuff for him to practice before they leave. The Irishman hums, letting him lead the way, and Tucker shows the bottles that he lined up over a wooden box, facing away from camp. The Roy Twins and Arin are also there, watching in the background, and Anti’s next to Jack. He picks up his rifle, beginning to explain how it works and how it will feel, and that only makes the brown-haired man scowl more. He’s not stupid. Jack interrupts him, taking some bullets from his hands and the gun, adjusting it to rest on his right shoulder. Anti calls him out but the Irishman immediately tilts it a bit to the side to load it and cocks the rifle, aiming at a glass bottle before firing. He feels the recoil push him slightly back and he hits the target, sound loud into his ears. He loads it again, aiming and shooting, and another bottle shatters into pieces. Jack does it until all five targets are hit, cocking the gun as fast as he can, and everyone is dead quiet once he’s done. The Irishman purses his lips, giving the rifle back to Anti, and the cowboy’s staring at him with parted lips.

 

“What?” Jack asks, seeing some folks take off their hats and whistle, and the smell of gunpowder is in the air. “I said I didn’t _have_ a gun, not that I didn’t know _how_ to use one.”

 

Anti knits his eyebrows and, when he tries to talk, it’s just a weird jumble of words. He trails off, shaking his head.

 

Tucker cackles. “I think you broke him.”

 

Jack rubs his right shoulder, feeling that ache, and he looks at the cowboy. Anti clears his throat, saying they need to get going then so he can teach the boy how to hunt. They get on their horses, leaving camp and entering the forest, and Jack holds back a sigh. It’s been a while since he held a gun, let alone fired one, but he doesn’t have much patient right now. Hearing the guys talk about Anti like that threw him off. He’s angry at the freckled man and yet, he tries not to show. It’s hard, emotions always so clear on his face, but he also really wants to learn how to track small animals. The copper-haired man glances at him, every now and then, and Jack keeps looking ahead. They stop after a while, tying their horses’ reins around a tree, and Anti lets the boy carry the gun. He talks while they walk, low under his breath, and he points out small broken twigs and scattered leaves. They have to be as quiet as they can, paying attention to their surrounding, and Anti crouches down to show him damp soil with paw prints. Jack hums, knowing the man wants him to guess it. It’s little, with a light and fast move, and the Irishman remembers that wooden piece he has. He asks if it’s a rabbit and the cowboy grunts, nodding once. He speaks of other animals and what they leave behind. How to tell the difference.

 

There’s a distant shuffling and Jack perks up at that, raising the gun a little. Anti puts a finger against his lips and their steps are light, slow. The Irishman breaks a twig under his foot and he curses under his breath, seeing more movement ahead, and the cowboy watches. Jack aims with the rifle, looking for the prey, but Anti hums. He whispers that, even though the boy knows how to use a gun, he’s rusty. He touches Jack’s waist, pushing his right foot forward and lowering an elbow. Anti says he’s hurting his shoulder with that other position and getting hit by the recoil too much, so he places the end of it a bit lower. The brown-haired man knits his eyebrows, feeling more comfortable but saying nothing. Anti walks backwards, watching him from the side and leaning against a tree. Jack sees a rabbit hopping between bushes. He purses his lips, tightening his hold on the rifle, and his heart beats faster. He hates how nonchalant Anti is, out of the corner of his eye, crossing his arms, and he remembers Tucker’s words again. Jack’s finger twitches on the trigger, blinking fast, and that rabbit is still. He should take the chance. It’s right there. He scowls more, grimacing, and he shuffles on his feet.

 

“Put the gun down,” Anti murmurs.

 

“Shut up.”

 

 “You ain’t gonna do it, you know t-”

 

Jack grinds his teeth, staring at that rabbit cleaning its face, and his eyes get teary when pulling the trigger. The sound echoes in the forest, like a lightning striking down, and he jerks a bit at the recoil. The smell of gunpowder burns his nostrils and he swallows, lowering the weapon and staring at a fallen animal from afar. His shoulders fall and Anti walks up to it, glancing at the boy and urging him to follow. Jack sighs, but does so, both stopping in front of the dead rabbit and staring down at it. There’s a bullet wound on his upper body, blood smearing that grey fur, and the Irishman presses his lips together. The cowboy murmurs that maybe he is a natural after all, taking a knife in his hands and extending it to the brown-haired man. Jack sends him a questioning look and Anti tells him to skin it. The Irishman lets out a broken huff, shaking his head.

 

No fucking way. The copper-haired man is already impressed that Jack actually killed it, but that’s too far. It’s so different seeing them, so unaware of what’s going to happen. It doesn’t feel right. Anti takes him by the wrist, pulling them down until they’re on their knees. He places the knife on Jack’s hand, wrapping his fingers around it, and he guides it towards the rabbit’s stomach. The Irishman’s breathing picks up, shaking. Anti makes a fast motion with their hands to slice it, but Jack yanks his arm back. He drops the knife, blurting out that he can’t do that. Anti looks at him and his words are like a slap on Jack’s face.

 

“You’re not gonna make it in this world if you stay like that. They will eat you alive.”

 

The Irishman blinks tears away, glaring at the freckled man, and he swallows hard. It sparks a fire in his heart, wanting to prove himself to Anti that he’ll survive. That he already has been through hell.

 

He takes a deep breath, clearing his mind. Alright. He shot it. It’s dead and it won’t feel anything. Breathe. Jack takes the knife in his hands again, fighting back the urge to gag, and he shakily whispers for Anti to tell him what to do. The brown-haired man caresses the rabbit’s fur, apologizing in his mind, and he lets Anti’s words guide his hand. The sound is horrible in his ears and he wipes a tear away, sniffing. He’s slightly clumsy and a bit of blood splashes on his hand, cutting somewhere he shouldn’t. Goddamnit. Jack pulls the skin and his stomach folds, stopping to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns his face away and Anti grabs the weapon from him, finishing instead. Even though the cowboy said he wasn’t going to be easy on the boy, that was not what he expected. He didn’t think he’d have to do these things. Anti tries pulling his face by the chin but Jack refuses his touch, getting up. The freckled man purses his lips.

 

He rolls up the fur and ties it up, giving everything to Jack because it was his kill, and they walk back towards their horses. The Irishman never thought he’d take an animal’s life and he hopes they use everything they can, so this won’t go to waste. It’s the least they can do. The walk is too quiet now, heavy, and he tenses up whenever Anti gazes at him. The copper-haired man takes off his hat for a moment, ruffling his hair before putting it back, and Jack looks ahead while holding their meat. It takes him a second to realize that Anti has stopped, so he turns around, asking what’s wrong. The man has his hands on his hips, head tilting to the side, and he points at the boy with his chin.

 

“Speak.”

 

Jack shrugs. “I ain’t got nothing to say.”

 

Anti raises an eyebrow, not buying his bullshit, and the boy huffs. God, this is so fucked up. He’s standing in the middle of a forest, holding a dead rabbit, and he’s upset with a wanted man. Jack blinks at the cowboy, wondering if he ever bought horses for other lovers too. Or if he taught them how to hunt or called them angel. The Irishman’s face falls, brushing it off, and he mumbles it’s nothing. That he has a headache from drinking last night. He’s being naive, letting his emotions take over that silly situation. Anti doesn’t care for that. The Irishman turns back on his tracks, ignoring a sigh behind him, and they find their horses. He hangs up the animal on his saddle, hopping on Sunlight, and he clicks his tongue. The freckled man follows him, albeit still suspicious. When they arrive at the camp, Jack goes to Crazy Maddie, wanting to leave the meat with them. The brown-haired woman congratulates him for his first hunt and she thinks that he should have it instead. The Irishman smiles but insists that they need more than him. Maybe next time he can gather the stomach to eat something he killed. She looks over his shoulder, huffing, and she speaks of Anti watching him. Jack presses his lips together and she grins. _Make him jealous_ , is what Crazy Maddie says to him, and the boy arches an eyebrow at that.

 

Jack brushes his mare, caressing her and giving some food. Sunlight eats a carrot from his hand and she nickers, listening to him talking to her. He needs to go back home. He doesn’t want to worry his friends too much, already gone for a day. Jack says goodbye to everyone and Anti says he’ll come along, but the boy refuses his company. He can find his way back, remembering their path, and the cowboy doesn’t press the matter. Jack leaves the camp, ignoring an intent gaze on his back while he rides, and Crazy Maddie’s words hover in his mind.

 

The way back home, though, does him well. The brown-haired man breathes in fresh air, liking to see nature around him, and he pats Sunlight every now and then. By the time Vincent Town is on sight, he’s calm, and he stops by the saloon. Thankfully, he doesn’t see the sheriff and he’ll make sure to be more alert about that man. Robin all but pulls him into a warm hug, asking if he’s alright, and Jack apologizes for leaving out of nowhere. He sighs into the man’s hold, glad to have his friend, and he explains what happened. Robin is furious, hating Felix almost as much as the boy does, but he’s grateful that Anti took care of him. Ethan prepares a bath for him upstairs and he thinks that his friends are the only thing that keeps him there. In that town. They mean so much to him and he craves that bath, wanting to be clean. The Irishman realizes he’s with Anti’s shirt, but maybe the man won’t miss it that much. It’s best not to think about him right now.

 

And as the days pass, Jack’s life goes back to normal.

 

He builds a simple stable for Sunlight with Robin’s help. She can have a good place to stay, especially when it rains, and Jack won’t have to worry about it. He doesn’t see Felix at all and he hears people gossip that the man’s busy somewhere else for a while, which is a relief. Jack’s old friend shows up at the saloon in today’s afternoon, Arthur, and he happily talks to him. Marlene puts some blush on his cheeks, wanting him to look even more pretty if that cowboy appears, and Jack giggles with his friends. He’s feeling good and he likes teasing Arthur a lot, flirting only to make the man shake his head with a shy grin. The place is not that busy too, so the Irishman can sit at the dark-haired man’s table to chat without worrying too much. He’s resting a cheek on a hand, listening to Arthur tell a story but his eyes go to the double doors, seeing no one other than Anti walking in. Jack immediately moves to sit down on Arthur’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck, and the man asks what he’s doing. The Irishman cups his cheek, leaning into his ear, and he whispers to just pretend that he’s buying the boy. The dark-haired man murmurs he ain’t liking that and Jack giggles, caressing his hair.

 

“You have a soft spot for me,” the boy smiles, placing Arthur’s hand on his thigh, and the man sighs while rolling his eyes. “I promise I’ll own you one.”

 

The copper-haired man is leaving his weapons by the counter, but he eyes them together with a scowl. Jack keeps whispering with his friend, biting his earlobe and just being flirtatious. Marlene also comes over to help, waving her fan while hiding a smirk, and the Irishman pretends not to notice the cowboy walking towards them until there’s a shadow. Anti stands in front of them, glaring, and Jack turns his face to look at him with a small _Oh,_ _hey_. He smiles and the freckled man seems to scowl even more, staring at Arthur. His friend lets out a long sigh, drinking his whiskey, and he mumbles something about getting too old for this. Anti’s gaze is intent and it’s rare for him to speak in public, but Jack knows he’s wondering what the hell is happening.

 

“I’m busy right now…” the Irishman then says. “Can you wait?”

 

Anti clenches his jaw. “No.”

 

Arthur snorts and Jack bites his lips, holding back a smile. The cowboy narrows his eyes and the brown-haired man kisses his friend’s cheek, saying he can have him another time. Marlene chuckles and she winks at him before he leaves the saloon with Anti. Despite Jack wanting to tease the man, he doesn’t want to ruin what they have. He needs to be careful and Anti already looks like he’ll break his teeth from clenching his jaw too much. The Irishman softly calls his name outside, tugging on his coat, and he asks what’s planned for today. He quickly learns how tough it is to pretend not to care for the cowboy and he blames his weak heart. The copper-haired man murmurs about bow and arrow, that they won’t hunt today but practice how to use that weapon. It’s simple but it is still valuable. Silent. Jack nods, glad that he won’t be doing that thing again so soon, and he greets Domino before they leave. He pats her and smiles when she neighs, and the boy thinks she’s starting to love him more than her owner. Anti hums at that and they head towards that clearing with their animals.

 

Jack’s relieved when they don’t have any prey as target and the cowboy only tells him to aim for a tree. He carves a spot into it with his knife, walking up to the Irishman and fixing his pose. Anti lowers Jack’s shoulders and touches his waist, murmuring for him to be straight. The brown-haired man knits his eyebrows, focusing, but the man’s rough touch doesn’t go by unnoticed. Anti is not lingering close to him and his tone is rather cold. Short words and complains whenever Jack can’t shoot an arrow properly. The Irishman holds back a huff, knowing that the freckled man’s upset about what he saw, and he thinks that they’re both acting like children. He can’t help it, though. Jack also wonders why the cowboy is training him that much, despite them not being in the same pace at the moment. He presses his lips together and tigthens his hold on the bow, shooting a third arrow. A rush of wind brushes against his cheek but he misses the target, arrow sinking into the tree lower than he wanted to. Still, Anti grunts next to him and Jack assumes that he’s getting better.

 

It’s beautiful to see Anti shooting. The Red Snake’s gaze is intent, narrowed emerald eyes glued to that tree a few feet away, and he hits exactly where that mark is. Jack observes his posture, seeing the cowboy without that long coat and with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His own sapphire eyes admire that more than he should. He bites his bottom lip, leaning against a tree, and he hums at something that Anti says but doesn’t quite catch. The Irishman’s distracted by strong arms, veins tracing his freckled skin from the strength his using. He tilts his head to look down at Anti’s body. The copper-haired man turns his face at him with a light scowl, lowering the bow, and he purses his lips.

 

“You’re not paying attention,” he says and Jack’s eyebrows go up at that, straightening his back.

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“What did I just say, then?”

 

The brown-haired man takes a deep breath and blinks at the man, crossing his arms over his chest, and he half shrugs. “That you brought me a kiss.”

 

Anti sighs, walking towards him, and the sound of grass moving underneath his boots is too loud in Jack’s ears. The man stops inches away from him and he swallows, but looks up at those green eyes. His copper curls softly dance with the wind and the Irishman clenches his hands, holding back the urge to brush them away. To caress his cheek. Anti repeats what he said in a murmur, that the bow string is the boy’s trigger and that he needs to use his index finger to pull it. Jack nods, understanding that it’ll be easier to release it, and the cowboy doesn’t move from where he stands. The ginger-haired man raises a hand, touching the Irishman’s cheek, and he asks what’s wrong. If he did something. His voice is so tender and low, it almost sounds like he really cares. Jack’s heart aches, eyelashes fluttering from the caress, and he shakes his head. He looks down, brushing away the man’s hand, and he whispers that it’s nothing. Anti doesn’t like that and the boy walks to the side, going towards their horses. He pats Sunlight and Domino bumps into his shoulder, wanting attention and making him smile a little.

 

The freckled man doesn’t scold him from ignoring practice and Jack is not really comfortable anymore. He doesn’t even know what he would say, nor does he know if he should be feeling possessive in the first place. With that in mind, Jack mutters that he wants to go back and he asks if they can continue another day. If Anti is disappointed, he doesn’t show. The man just nods once, still standing there in the middle of the clearing, and it shouldn’t hurt that much to see that face. Jack gets on his horse and he doesn’t say goodbye, just riding back home without looking back.

 

He wants nothing more than to jump into the man’s arms, but he can’t ignore his bruised heart.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to post today because I got distracted playing Stardew Valley for the first time kasjdakdj! Hope yall enjoyed it!! This chapter was really fun to write! :)


	9. And Stars Will Bloom in Your Lungs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Implied/Mention of Rape/Non-Con, please proceed with care!**

“Are you sure you’re doing alright?”

 

Jack purses his lips at Ethan’s question, but continues folding sheets in one of their rooms from the saloon. He nods, murmuring that he just has a lot in his mind, and the kid sighs. It’s been a bit over a week since he last saw Anti and that uncomfortable feeling hasn’t gone away. Robin said it looks like he sucked on a lemon, emotions always so clear on his face, and he can’t deny that’s how it feels. Jack works then, appreciating Ethan’s company, and they occasionally exchange a few words to lighten the mood. The dark-haired man makes Jack smile, talking about a night he had with someone, and the Irishman tidies up the room. He puts dirty sheets into a basket, already looking forward to go home today, and they both look towards the door when it opens. Marlene shows up, golden hair loose beautifully with red lips, and she arches an eyebrow. She says Jack’s cowboy is downstairs and the boy clenches his jaw. He takes a deep breath, looking at the floor while thinking for a second, and he shakes his head.

 

“Tell him I’m not here.”

 

She chuckles. “He ain’t gonna like that.”

 

“Good.”

 

Ethan snorts, thinking that he’s really upset with Anti, and Jack shrugs. He can’t even explain exactly what this is. All he knows is that the copper-haired man will have others to warm his bed, so there’s no reason to follow him every time. Jack’s friends back him up, going downstairs to make Anti leave, and the brown-haired man hides in the room with a sigh. He rests his back against the wall, holding that basket, and he waits until Ethan assures him that everything is alright. Thankfully, the cowboy goes away without insisting too much but Marlene says that he didn’t look very pleased. Once the Irishman’s done cleaning everything, he stays with Robin behind the counter, serving some drinks. He lunches with Ethan and Marlene gossips with him about their town. In the afternoon, the day turns grey, and their place is full. Jack has to bat hands away from him at night with a scowl, ignoring insults murmured at him and whistles. There’s melody in the saloon, coming from the piano, and it starts drizzling.

 

He’s exhausted by the time he leaves work, but grateful that Sunlight is there to take him home.

 

His body gently moves while she walks them up the hill and the moonlight shines his way, despite the clouds carrying the light rain. As Jack gets closer to his home though, he sees a familiar silhouette on his porch that makes him sigh. The Irishman tigthens his hand on the reins, finding Anti leaning against his porch while smoking a cigarette. He wonders if there’s time to turn back. The copper-haired man looks at him, as if catching that thought, and Jack presses his lips together. Jack clicks his tongue, making Sunlight go towards her stable behind his house, and he tries buying himself time. While he ties his mare up safe and sound, he asks for good luck and she just neighs at him, liking when he pats her head before leaving. Jack makes his way to the porch, holding back a shiver from the cold rain, and Anti puts out his cigarette. He stands straight and the Irishman locks their gaze, stepping onto creaking wood. There’s a beat of a silence before the cowboy murmurs about the boy not being in the clearing and Jack imagines him waiting all day for him. The Irishman drags a hand over his face, thinking that Anti won’t leave so soon, so he whispers for him to come inside.

 

The freckled man takes off his hat and coat, making himself at home, and Jack hangs his jacket over an old couch before working on his fireplace. He keeps his back turned to Anti, gathering some wood he chopped another day and adding some oil. An orange glow cast into the dim room, illuminating their faces, and the sound of fire crackling in the air soothes the boy. He rubs his hands, looking down at the fireplace, and he hears footsteps behind him. The smell of tobacco hits him, so used to it, and he holds back a sigh. Anti’s voice is close, deep and rough, and he says that he won’t leave until he knows what’s wrong. Jack half shrugs but a thin line of anxiety falls into his stomach when Anti mentions that he talked to Tucker.

 

“You’re jealous,” the ginger-haired man mutters, but there’s a hint of disbelief in his voice. As if he’s waiting for Jack to say that’s not the problem.

 

The Irishman crosses his arms, turning his face to look at him so near, and the fire light casts beautifully on the man. Freckles practically dancing on his skin. Hair like fire itself.

 

“I shouldn’t bother,” he replies. “I’m just your whore.”

 

Anti narrows his eyes, scanning the boy’s face. “Y-”

 

“You have me for free,” Jack interrupts the man, looking back at the fire. “Maybe you were lying about this being something more, I don’t know. How can I be sure? Maybe it was easier to make me lay with you in bed... I’m… I’m fucking stupid for feeling this, to think it was just me. Just forget it.”

 

There’s a pause and the brown-haired man grimaces at himself, ashamed to be such a fool once more. Anti stays still and more rain falls outside, muffling Jack’s thoughts. When the cowboy finally speaks, he whispers that he was visiting other places while he was away. That he grew bored of them and that the Irishman was in his mind since their first night. Jack purses his lips, not wanting to fall for this, but his heart skips a beat. Anti hasn’t lied to him about anything and he hasn’t been with anyone else since that day the brown-haired man insisted in taking over. There’s a hint of humor in his tone of voice and that makes Jack turn back at him, blue eyes locking on green. The ginger-haired man sighs, a hand going up to cup the boy’s cheek, and he looks so calm. The Irishman swallows, unsure if he should lean into the touch, and Anti caresses his thumb there. They exchange a look and the cowboy hums.

 

“I’ll always be faithful, but I’ll expect you to return the gesture.”

 

Jack sucks in air, emotions building up in his chest, and the corners of his eyes burn with unshed tears. Goddamnit, this man. Is that really true? Did he really mean that? The Irishman’s eyes flutter and Anti brushes a tear away, waiting. He’s so gorgeous and he sounds so sincere. How can someone not fall for him? How can he not get lost in those eyes?

 

“Promise?” Jack breathes and Anti nods.

 

“Promise.”

 

The brown-haired man shuts his eyes and leans into the touch, closing the gap between them by resting his face on the man’s chest. Anti wraps his arms around him and Jack mumbles something about hating the cowboy, but there’s no bite on his tone. There’s a huff and the man’s warm, so perfect around him. The Irishman breathes into his scent and all that agony from before leaves him even more exhausted. Anti murmurs into his ear that the boy needs sleep, caressing his hair, and Jack hums while holding onto the man’s vest. He lets himself be guided by Anti, both going towards his bedroom, and the cowboy lights an oil lantern to cast into the room. The Irishman blinks at him, lips parting, and Anti tells him to undress. They’ve spend nights before without seeking pleasure, times when the cowboy wanted him to rest as well, but it always surprises Jack whenever that happens. He takes off his own vest and unbuttons his shirt, throwing his damp clothes over a chair. The freckled man does the same, boots near the nightstand, and he pushes the covers for the Irishman.

 

Jack lies in bed, back against the wall, and Anti joins him with his warmth. The Irishman tucks his face under the man’s chin, missing that, and there’s a hum rumbling in his chest. Jack can only trusts Anti’s words. He wants this. Badly. He didn’t know how much it’d affect him after knowing all those things. He’s not fond of the thought of someone else touching Anti like that. Jack tigthens his hold, taking a deep breath, and he relaxes listening to the man’s beating heart.

 

And when he falls asleep, he dreams of kissing rough lips and tracing constellations on milky skin. Marked with time and stories he wants to hear. Jack savors each touch of their lips, as if knowing that’s just a dream, and he clings onto that man. It’s a blur of sensations, but it’s intense as it goes. He shivers at light pecks on his neck and there’s a firm hold around his waist. It’s a dream that leaves him breathless, shuffling in bed, and he knits his eyebrows when he slowly stirs himself awake. He doesn’t want this to end, still feeling warm between his legs, but it’s a caress that makes his hazy eyes open. Jack twitches his hips, lying on his back, and he lets out a shaky moan. He frowns more when the sensation doesn’t go away and he lazily raises a hand to touch soft hair, down his navel.

 

“Anti…?” Jack murmurs, voice hoarse, and he sees the man looking up at him. Anti hums, opening his mouth to lick the tip of the Irishman’s cock. He huffs weakly, squirming, and he cleans his eyes with a groan. “What… What are you doing…?”

 

“You were moaning my name.”

 

“Mm… Was I?”

 

The freckled man plants a kiss on his inner thigh and the Irishman gasps, shuddering. Anti hums as an answer, resting between Jack’s legs as if he belongs there, and he kisses more pale skin. The brown-haired man holds back a smile, feeling the man’s beard brushing against him, and Anti teases slowly in the morning. Jack closes his eyes, throwing an arm over his face with a long sigh, and a hand caresses the cowboy’s curls. The freckled man bites his skin, licking his balls, and Jack’s lips part to take a deep breath. Good god. He doesn’t regret waking up from that dream now. Anti wraps his fingers around Jack’s shaft, gently jerking him with his calloused hand, and the brown-haired man shudders more. He bites his bottom lip, shuffling, and he groans when the cowboy sucks his cock. The Irishman puts his arms down, clenching his hands onto the sheets, and he turns his face to bury into the pillow with a moan. His lungs fill with air, chest rising, and Anti strokes him slowly while tasting the Irishman with his split tongue. God, his tongue. Jack moves his legs, whining under his breath until Anti helps him, and he rests his thighs over the man’s shoulders. He mewls, lightly thrusting his hips up like that, and the freckled man swallows another inch of his cock.

 

He thrusts again and Anti bobs his head, up and down, taking all that he can. Jack’s heart beats against his ribcage, pupils wide at the ceiling now, and he arches his body with a louder moan. The ginger-haired man looks at him through long eyelashes, both with a hazy gaze, and Jack tugs on the man’s hair. Anti hums, closing his eyes, and he pulls back with a wet sound in the air. The Irishman swears under his breath, seeing a string of saliva between the cowboy’s lips and the tip of his pulsing cock. Precum trickling down and smearing Jack’s skin, down to his thighs. His balls are tight and he’s breathing harder, a warm fog wrapping around his mind that matches a sweet burn below his navel. Anti squeezes his swollen tip, rubbing a thumb on the underside of his erection, and Jack’s eyes roll back at that. He mumbles something between a hoarse mewl, telling him to keep going, and the cowboy speeds up some more. Fuck. He’s so hard and he likes seeing the man like that, just for him. Anti takes him in his pretty mouth again and Jack’s whole body jerks, a hand coming up to touch the wall.

 

“O-Oh, god! Fuck!” he moans, moving his hips and throwing his head back. “A-Anti…”

 

He digs his nails into the wooden wall while the other grabs a fistful of ginger locks, panting as his toes curl. Anti sucks him hard, caressing his thighs and brushing fingers on his balls, and it feels like Jack’s heart is going to burst. His breathing breaks into moans, sharp and fast, and his stomach tenses up. The heat below his navel tightens and he knits his eyebrows in pleasure, swearing and mewling in the room. Anti’s mouth is warm and wet, and every move brings the Irishman closer to the edge. Jack tries to warn the cowboy that he’ll cum, half words falling from a loose mouth, but the man doesn’t budge. He just grabs the brown-haired man’s harder, cheeks going hollow, and that’s more than enough. Jack cums with a broken gasp, whole body spasming in bed, and hot white strings fill Anti’s mouth. The copper-haired man swallows, taking him, and the Irishman lets his eyes fall shut while his orgasm hits him. He shudders violently, heart pounding loudly in his ears, and his legs squirm at every wave. Anti milks him, squeezing his shaft and licking what has left from his tip. Jack breathes through his mouth, feeling pure bliss.

 

The mattress shifts with Anti’s weight and he sighs when the man kisses his happy trail. The cowboy makes his way up, brushing his lips on flushed skin, and Jack shivers. Anti kisses his collarbone and neck with care, stopping to look down at the Irishman. Jack opens his eyes and, jesus christ, Anti looks ravishing. Pink wet lips ajar and pupils dilated as well, hair disheveled from the boy touching so much. Flushed cheeks, freckles standing out. Breathtaking. Jack brushes a thumb against the man’s lips, licking his own, and he wonders if he would taste himself in that mouth. The ginger-haired man wraps his fingers around the Irishman’s wrist, adding pressure to kiss his thumb. Jack smiles lazily, blinking with damp eyelashes, and he murmurs a good morning. Anti snorts and the brown-haired man slides a hand down between them. He wants to return the gesture, but the man stops him. The cowboy whispers that there’s no need, bumping his nose on the boy’s cheek. Jack wasn’t expecting that at all. He never found himself in a situation like that, where he doesn’t have to give something back. It’s already odd enough to be receiving in the first place, just for the pleasure of it.

 

They exchange a look and Jack nods, a bit unsure but content. He huffs, smile widening, and he mutters that the cowboy keeps surprising him. Anti grunts, burying his face in the crook of the Irishman neck, and his weight is welcome above the boy. They tangle their legs and Jack takes a deep breath, caressing the man’s back. God, that’s so peaceful. It’s perfect. His heart flutters, fondness making itself a home there, and it should be alarming how easily Anti has him. But he can’t bring himself to care. Not right now. It doesn’t come as a surprise when they doze off in their arms, enjoying that lazy morning, and Jack breathes into the man’s hair. Anti practically curls around him, lips brushing against his collarbone, and the boy kisses the top of his head in mid sleep. The cowboy nuzzles into his neck and Jack remembers how difficult it was to make that man stay. It always made him nauseous. Dirty and empty. Now, he doesn’t know where he begins and where Anti ends.

 

They only get up at some point to empty their bladders, washing their faces and rinsing their mouths, but they’re soon back in bed. Anti’s the one that brings him something to eat, murmuring something about coffee, and Jack accepts the warm drink with a light smile. It’s still drizzling outside and the Irishman couldn’t wish for a better morning, both finally coming into terms with themselves. It’s still so crazy that Anti wants him as well. That he made that promise and that he thinks of the boy. Jack hides a smirk behind his mug, remembering the man’s face when he saw the Irishman with Arthur. He was jealous too. Anti gets up to find his pants, taking out a cigarette to smoke, and Jack’s eyes wander through his naked body. The ginger-haired man sits by an armchair, leaning against it, and smoke leaves his nostrils. The Irishman turns on his stomach, resting a cheek against the pillow, and he watches the cowboy grab that sketchbook from his coat. Jack blinks lazily, taking a deep breath, and he wants to memorize that sight. Anti opens his leather book and draws with a small charcoal, cigarette between his lips.

 

“What do you like about me the most?” Jack asks.

 

Anti’s green eyes find his over the sketchbook and his hand stops on paper. The Irishman smiles, eyes turning into half-moons, and he rests a hand against a cheek while moving his legs in the air. The cowboy tells him not to move but Jack ignores that, smiling more. The man takes a deep breath, looking back at his book, and he purses his lips.

 

“Your fire,” he murmurs, hand beginning to sketch again in calm strokes, and a frown slowly forms on the Irishman’s face the more he talks. “Most people would just follow orders and not raise their heads. They would just take it, whatever’s in front of ‘em.” Jack’s smile falls as well, batting his eyelashes and listening, and Anti’s eyes flicker at him again. “But you’re not most people. You’re brave.”

 

The brown-haired man’s lips part, not believing this cowboy, and he stares for a moment. Jack swears the man was gonna say something about the way he looks with a cock in his mouth or how easily he bends over. Jack was expecting anything at all. Anything but that. He sits up, white sheets tangled around his waist, and he stands up while feeling them fall. Anti admires his exposed body and Jack walks up to him, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders. The ginger-haired man closes the book, giving him space, and the Irishman gracefully sits on his lap. Anti takes a final drag from his cigarette before putting it out on a dresser next to them and Jack caresses his hair. He cups the man’s cheeks, breathing into that scent, and they exchange a look. The Irishman slowly leans down, rubbing his thumbs on freckled skin, and his lips touch the corner of Anti’s mouth. The cowboy knits his eyebrows, frozen in place, and the boy feels his beard more than anything. It’s not a kiss, but it’s close to what the Irishman wants. His lips make a sound when pulling back and moves just enough to kiss his other side. Anti drops the charcoal on the floor, hands finding Jack’s waist easily and leaving dark trails on pale skin.

 

Jack kisses each cheek, tilting the man’s face gently, and brushes his lips on Anti’s jaw while whispering what he likes about him. His freckles. His emerald eyes. Curly hair, always so messy. How stubborn he is and yet how tender he can be. Jack pecks the cowboy’s face, sighing into his ear, and those rough hands tighten around him. Jack mutters he loves feeling Anti inside him. That he’s warm and the Irishman longs for the next time they’ll see each other, every time. The ginger-haired man grunts, closing his eyes when Jack plants hickeys on his neck, and his hands caress the Irishman’s back. The Irishman trails a hand on the man’s chest, down to his navel, and he wraps his fingers around Anti’s cock. The cowboy’s chest rises with a deep breath, humming, and he bumps his nose against the boy’s cheek. Jack smiles, lazily touching him, and it’s Anti’s turn to mark the Irishman’s neck with love bites. The brown-haired-man strokes the man’s shaft, feeling it grow in his hand, and his mouth waters. He presses his thumb on the tip of Anti’s cock, fingers smearing with precum, and there’s a groan.

 

The freckled man touches the Irishman as well and he slides his own hand down between pale legs. Jack shudders, Anti’s fingers brushing against his entrance, and he squeezes the cowboy’s cock with a moan. He’s stretched open with care and the Irishman moves his hips, panting with a smile. His heart flutters when Anti doesn’t take his eyes off him, head resting against the armchair, and he dances for the man. Jack takes the cowboy’s cock after a while, lungs filling with air, and it’s delicious to be full again. He throws his head back, riding Anti, and his mouth falls open while moving his hips. He mewls, low moans under his breath. Pupils wide and flushed cheeks. The copper-haired man’s lips part, sucking in air, and a hand touches Jack’s stomach. Up to his chest and neck. He lets out a breathless chuckle when the man caresses his cheek and he covers Anti’s hand with his, leaning into the touch. The freckled man buckles his own hips up in the air, spreading more his legs, and the Irishman gasps. Their thrusts are long, not so fast but enough to drive them crazy, and there’s a fire burning beneath Jack’s navel.

 

He leans forward to rest his forehead against Anti, brushing his lips on the man’s mouth for a split second. The cowboy pants, a moan reaching Jack’s ears, and they breath into their mouths. The Irishman tugs on Anti’s beard, tilting his head to get more of him, and those rough hands slide down to his ass cheeks. The freckled man groans, moving in and out of him, and Jack mumbles he’s getting close. Anti squeezes the tip of his cock, stroking him, and the brown-haired man lets out a keen sound, body tensing up. He knits his eyebrows, toes curling, and his thighs tremble with the man’s thrusts. Their skin slaps, too loud and obscene in the room, and Jack cups the back of Anti’s head, closing his eyes when jizzing onto their stomachs. The ginger-haired man keeps moving, watching the Irishman ride his orgasm and spasm above him. Anti curses under his breath, quickening his pace, and he sinks his nails into the boy’s waist.

 

“S-Seán…”

 

Jack opens his eyes, seeing Anti coming undone, and he loves hearing the man moaning his name. It’s the first time he does that, moaning some more, and the Irishman caresses his hair while whispering sweet nothings. Anti’s cock pulses inside him, filling him up, and Jack lazily kisses the cowboy’s cheek. The man grunts, chest rising with a deep breath, and he looks so hot right now. So fucked. The brown-haired man hums, licking his neck up to his ear, and Anti shivers. Jack can’t stop grinning. The freckled man looks at him, those glassy eyes of his, and he sighs. He brushes a thumb over the boy’s lips, much like in that early morning, and it’s Jack’s turn to kiss him there. He leans down to hug Anti, resting there, and the cowboy wraps his arms around him without a second thought. He whispers for the boy not to move and the Irishman huffs, saying that he won’t this time.

 

Jack holds onto him when Anti stands up, walking them towards bed, and he falls onto the mattress while bringing the man with him. The cowboy pulls out, lying on his back while pushing some copper strands away from his forehead, and the Irishman sighs while rubbing his legs. Anti’s cum trickles down his ass and he finds himself enjoying that sensation even more. It’s a filthy contentment that warms his heart. He stays on his side, an arm resting on his cheek so he can look at Anti, and their expressions are serene. The man’s relaxed after his orgasm, not even frowning, and his chest rises with his breathing. Jack blinks softly, a hand coming up to trace the man’s stomach. His fingers brush on old scars, sapphire eyes counting them, and he asks if the freckled man can tell how they got them. That he wants to hear their stories. Anti sighs, turning his face to look at the boy. He says he will, but only if the Irishman do the same. Jack thinks for a moment but nods, ignoring a twist in his stomach. The brown-haired man focuses back on Anti’s body, humming, and he stops his hand over a scar on the cowboy’s left side.

 

“Tell me about this one,” he whispers.

 

“That one was from two years ago… I was shot while running away after we stole a bank. Guard missed and the bullet just scratched me. Enough to leave a mark, though,“ Anti murmurs, moving an arm up to rest on the back of his head. The other goes under Jack, his rough fingers touching the boy’s back. The Irishman holds back a shudder when he stops below his shoulder blade. “Your turn.”

 

Jack tries smiling but it comes out weird, mouth twitching. He ends up pursing his lips, knitting his eyebrows. He’s too self-conscious of where Anti is touching, so he moves to sit up with a forced huff. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

 

“Seán.”

 

Goddamnit. That shouldn’t be enough to make him change his mind. Jack drags a hand over his face, sighing while closing his eyes. Anti waits, still lying there. The Irishman pulls his legs up to hug them, feet planted in bed. He tries thinking exactly of what he can say, organizing memories, but it doesn’t help at all. Everything comes up in a blur and too fast. He only spoke of this with Robin and that already was hard enough. He didn’t expect to talk about it again. Jack does say that Anti is not a fool, that he has an idea of what will come out of his lips. The copper-haired man sends him a scowl and the Irishman rubs the back of his neck, looking down. He swallows, hating how his throat threatens to close.

 

“He was my first,” Jack whispers, barely there, but they both know who he’s talking about. There’s a fear that those words itself will bring that man back and the Irishman glances at his bedroom door, tensing up as if he’ll come running inside. Jack shakes his head, blinking. “I… I was young when we met, barely twenty one. He was kind… At least, I thought he was.”

 

It was too late by the time Jack realized he was just being groomed and that everything was just a lie. That it was going to hurt and he wouldn’t be able to escape, no matter how hard he screamed. Jack grimaces, not wanting to go further,, but he lets a final thought leave his lips.

 

“He sure didn’t mind sharing and showing what he did to me...”  

 

The brown-haired man purses his lips more when Anti caresses his back. He doesn’t want pity. He fought so hard to leave that fucking mess and his friends were there for him. Jack swallows, avoiding the cowboy’s eyes, and he’s aware of every scar that the sheriff gave him. All the cuts and burns. He remembers even the bruises that faded with time. Of his sore limbs and strong hands around his neck, much like that noose. Jack shakes his head, heart aching, and it’s difficult to explain everything. It’s difficult to say that he thought all of that was normal. That his first time was too rough and yet it was nothing compared to what came afterwards. That he was blind and weak, falling for a liar that did nothing but threaten him. The Irishman blinks and he sees himself naked on the floor, back bleeding with small cuts. Sobbing and curled in a corner of a dark room. A purple eye and split lip. His heart skips a beat, sucking in air, and the corners of his eyes burn. It’s Anti that breaks that old memory, calling his name so softly, and Jack turns to look at him. He can’t help but smile weakly, eyes shining with unshed tears, and he leans down to touch the man’s cheek. He presses his thumb between the freckled man’s knit eyebrows and there’s a long silence.

 

“And you still smile so beautifully,” Anti mutters, caressing the boy’s cheek as well. “You shine so bright… The stars should be ashamed.”

 

“D-Didn’t know there was a poet in you,” Jack half chuckles, half sobs. Silent tears stream down his face, but he’s relieved that there’s no judgement in the man’s eyes. “If I asked you to bring me the stars… Would you, cowboy?”

 

“Anything for you, angel.”

 

Jack’s expression softens and, in that quiet moment where they share their past, he truly believes Anti’s words.

 

 

 

 


	10. The Snake and The Flower

Jack repeats Anti’s words in his mind as the days go by.

 

He finds himself hiding smiles at work, heart lighter, and he brushes his fingers on hickeys that the man left on pale skin. Jack recalls how they said goodbye in the end of that day, after the rain had finally stopped, and how badly he just wanted to pull the cowboy back inside the house. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, wearing only the man’s shirt. _Bring me a kiss,_ the Irishman said again. Anti left after bumping his hand lightly on the boy’s chin, their touch lingering, and Jack watched him walk away with a smile. God, he’s fallen so hard. It’s nothing like what he had before. It’s nothing like he’s ever felt. It’s raw and yet so tender. Something he never thought he’d have and he can’t wait to see Anti again. He’s also relieved that there was no disgust in those emerald eyes, after he whispered some of his past. No rejection. Robin still asks him to be careful, but he sees happiness in Jack’s eyes. Everyone does.

 

It gets to the point where he can’t stay at home anymore, only waiting and avoiding someone in a white horse, so he leaves with Sunlight in the afternoon. Jack rides calmly towards the camp, hoping that he’s welcome there. The Irishman says his name when coming closer to their place, knowing someone is watching between the trees, and he holds back a sigh of relief when they let him enter. There’s no immediate sight of Anti, but he greets Arin while hitching Sunlight close to the other horses. The sun is bright, up in the sky, and it amazes him to see so many people working together. There are even a few kids, playing around, and he never thought that a gang would be like this. So united, like family. It’s much more than what people think. Arin catches his attention, smiling and walking with him through camp. Jack chuckles, waving at Tucker from afar, and he asks about Anti. They stop a few feet away from an open tent and the Irishman sees the freckled man behind a table, talking to Jimmy Gold Fingers and some other folks. Arin huffs, murmuring that he’s enamored by the boy. Jack’s cheeks redden, but he says nothing.

 

When Anti’s eyes find his, Jack’s stomach does something funny and the corners of his lips curl into a small smile. He raises a hand to wave, a bit awkward, and he ignores Arin’s laugh next to him. The copper-haired man has his legs crossed over the table and hesitates for a moment before raising his. The brunet does say the man’s discussing some important matter, so he turns around when Tucker calls him. As much as he wants to be with the cowboy, he really doesn’t want to bother. He hangs out with them and he watches the Roy Twins throw knives into a tree, passing time with a small competition. He chats with Crazy Maddie, gossiping about what he did, and he accepts her offer to play domino. Arin cheers for him, drinking some beer, and the Irishman likes it all. Of course that there are some unwanted looks here and there. He knows that he needs to earn their thrust, but no one threats him or anything. Jack feels rather comfortable there. He likes seeing this other side of them, that it’s not just a wanted poster with a price on their heads.

 

It comes to no surprise when Crazy Maddie wins the game and he gets up to bow to her while Arin groans. He chuckles and he looks to the side when there are footsteps next to him. Anti comes over, wearing all black but with an worn out yellow vest, and he tilts his head while greeting everyone. They exchange a look and Jack can tell everyone is smirking, watching quietly. The freckled man clears his throat, making a motion with his chin, and the Irishman is quick in understanding. He walks towards that beautiful view of a lake, both getting some distance from camp, and Jack rests his back against a tree when they’re far enough. He opens his mouth to speak, only to gasp when Anti wraps his arms around him. The Irishman lets out a breathless giggle, holding onto the man’s shoulders, and Anti buries his face in the crook of the boy’s neck. He breathes deeply there, bumping his nose on pale skin, and Jack’s pressed against the tree even more. He huffs when the copper-haired man plants an open-mouth kiss there, biting the Irishman’s earlobe. Jack flushes, whispering that people might be watching, but he tightens their hold. Anti grunts, sighing, and he moves just enough to lock their gaze. The brown-haired man cups the man’s cheek, tugging on his beard, and his heart beats faster.

 

“Hi…” he whispers. “What makes you so busy?”

 

“Mm, why? Did you miss me?”

 

Jack holds back a smile, refusing to answer that. Anti lifts his chin with a smirk of his own, as if saying he’s right. Despite being odd for them to be this close out in the open, he likes that the cowboy doesn’t pretend to be someone else with his people. He doesn’t shy away or act differently. No one will dare to tell him to stop, anyways. Jack takes the man’s hat to wear it, raising an eyebrow, and Anti sighs while saying he won’t be there for too long. The Irishman frowns right away, disappointment showing on his face. The ginger-haired man lightly hits the boy’s chin with his fingers, murmuring it’s nothing, but Jack can tell that he’s lying. He crosses his arms and Anti purses his lips, already seeing that as a bad sign coming from the kid. When the cowboy questions how he can know that, he shrugs.

 

“I can see it in your eyes,” Jack says and they keep staring for a full minute until Anti gives up. He mutters something about robbing from a train tonight and the Irishman’s lips part. It shouldn’t be that easy to forget of what Anti does sometimes. He nods, thinking to himself with a light frown on his face. “Take me with you.”

 

“I have no reason to,” the copper-haired man replies, arching an eyebrow. 

 

Jack shrugs, shaking his head as if trying to understand himself as well. He looks at those green eyes, pursing his lips. “I want… I want to know how you look like… Out there.”

 

Anti hums, raising a hand to touch the boy’s chin. Jack blinks at him, head up, and the man thinks he won’t like to see that. It’s the brown-haired man turn to question how he can know that and the cowboy clicks his tongue. His answer is still a firm _No_ , taking back his hat, and he leaves Jack by the tree while heading towards camp. The Irishman wants to follow him but Tucker is suddenly taking over his vision, already babbling about something in front of him. Jack holds back a sigh, looking over the man’s shoulder to see Anti with a gang member, and he knows they’re doing this to keep him busy. They don’t want him to pry. He frowns, pressing his lips together, but he stays with Tucker. He doesn’t want to go back to town anyways. Even though all he wants is to spend time with Anti and know what’s going on, it’s not that hard to have fun around camp. The more he’s there, the more he likes them. Silvertongue Ashley lights a fire for them as soon as the sun starts going low, and Jack loves how the sunset shines on that lake. He eats some food, glancing every now and then at Anti’s direction, and the air changes when night approaches. There are more whispers and slow movements. Feet shuffling and people gathering around.

 

Jack can tell that it’s only a small group that will leave tonight, including Anti. He’s sitting on a log, near the fire, and he looks over his shoulder to see the cowboy leaving with some folks on their horses. He clenches his jaw. Tucker and Arin don’t leave his side, but they’re engaged in a drinking game with the girls. Jack waits a little, smiling whenever something comes up. When no one is looking towards him, the Irishman quietly leaves his seat and sneaks between tents and wagons. He keeps his head down, heart skipping a beat, and he goes to his mere. Jack puts a finger against his lips, as if shushing Sunlight when she sees him, and he unties her heins from the wooden post. Some other horses huff around him, but he manages to hop up on Sunlight without any worry. He looks back one more time, hearing fading laughter, and he makes a mental note to apologize to them later. Jack presses his thighs against his mere’s sides and they silently go.

 

The brown-haired man has seem a side of Anti that he never thought it was there, that he can’t deny. The man can be a brute but the boy saw how gentle and loving he can be. And the thought of learning more about that person speaks louder every day. Now that Jack sees him around his family, his people, he craves more of that. The Irishman’s not sure if he’s in the right mind of actually going to a fucking _train robbery_ , but there’s a part of him that’s excited. He’s slow, only seeing them from afar, and he does his best not to be spotted. He whispers to Sunlight every now and then, guiding her into the path, and they all go up a hill before entering a forest. Jack pauses, unsure for a split second, but then clicks his tongue so they can continue. He dodges some branches on the way, narrowing his eyes to see ahead, and faint murmurs get closer after every step. It’s only when Sunlight steps on a twig, that snaps loudly in the night, that Jack’s heart races with a sudden fear. He hears men cocking their guns and he bursts out words as fast as he can.

 

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! It’s me! Jack!”

 

It’s Jimmy Gold Fingers who tells him to step forward and the Irishman comes out from between the trees, moonlight casting down on all of them. There’s a wagon in the middle of a small clearing and all of their horses are with one of them, being kept in place. Everyone turns to see him and Anti shuffles on his feet, a scowl immediately kissing his face. Jack comes down from Sunlight and the cowboy walks up to him in hurried steps.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hastily whispers, looking over his shoulder a couple of times to make sure his men are keeping some distance. “Go back!”

 

“No, I want to see you. I’m not leaving,” Jack replies, swallowing when he dares to continue. “And you can’t tell me what to do… We’ve talked about this.”

 

Someone behind mentions that the clock is ticking and Anti’s nostrils flare, yelling at the guy to shut the fuck up. He goes back to staring back at the boy and Jack keeps his head up, ignoring the anxious part of him and not wanting to go back on his own words. The ginger-haired man places his hands on his hips, shaking his head, and he murmurs a curse. Jack smiles, knowing Anti gave up, and the man whistles so someone can take care of Sunlight as well. There are complains but the freckled man quickly cuts them off with a glare, urging everyone to get on the fucking wagon. The Irishman hops in the back and Anti sighs next to him, pitching the end of his nose. When they start moving, he shifts lightly left and right with the bumpy road, and the man seems to be deep in thought while blinking at him. The copper-haired man tells him to stay behind him, not to do anything at all. He’s clearing not happy about this so Jack just nods, not wanting to upset him any further. 

 

The moon is high up in the sky and the stars are their only witness, shining bright. The air is cold and Jack listens to the Roy Twins chat behind him, guiding some horses to where they want to go. Anti grunts to call his attention, throwing a bandana that the boy catches in his hands with a frown. He purses his lips, realizing there’s no such thing as turning away now, and he places the black bandana around his head. Jack adjusts the fabric up to his nose, only his eyes in the open, and he watches everyone doing the same. As they slow down, the Irishman’s heart beats faster in expectation, and Anti whistles for them to stop right over the train tracks. The brown-haired man jolts when the cowboy urges for him to leave the wagon and he follows the Roy Twins, everyone hiding further into the bushes. Anti stays, holding a damn shotgun under the moonlight, and Jack grimaces at their stupid idea.

 

The ginger-haired man stands patiently and they all hear a train coming closer every second. It’s a bright light that makes Jack look towards his right, seeing exactly what they wanted. Jimmy Gold Fingers murmurs for them to be ready, but the Irishman’s looks at the train and Anti back and forth. Why is he not moving? Is he insane?! Jack lets out a shaky breath, eyes widen in worry, and there’s a shout stuck in his throat. He opens his mouth, stepping forward, but a hand on his arm stops him immediately. One of the Roy Twins shakes his head, telling him to stay quiet and still, and Jack holds back a groan. He winces when there’s a loud whistle in the air, the train’s smoke painting the night sky, and it comes to an abrupt stop when seeing a man standing on the tracks. Anti makes a motion with his chin from a far and everyone acts fast, running out of the bushes. Jack can only follow, hyperfocused of everything, and they hop into the train. Jimmy Gold Fingers encounters the machinist and knocks him out while the twins open the first wagon. The Irishman swallows hard and Anti comes over like a shadow, passing in front of him. All the passengers gasp in fear and raise their voices, a crowd of cries while the Hellbreakers make their stand.

 

The freckled man doesn’t say a word but his gang seems to know every command. Jimmy nods and tells them to grab anything valuable that they can find. That it’s time to take some donations. Jack’s eyes wander everywhere. The Hellbreakers steal jewelry and money from everyone, threatening with loud voices, and Anti’s whole body moves differently. One of the twins call him, saying a man is not cooperating, and the Irishman sees the Red Snake before him. Nothing more. It should terrify him, but there’s a thrill under his skin. An excitement that he didn’t know he could feel. The cowboy hits that man’s face with the back of his gun and the guy yells about a broken nose. Eventually, he cooperates. They pass by each wagon and not once does Anti turn back to look at him. The brown-haired man feels a chill run down his spine and he stays as quiet as possible, watching it all. He catches a glimpse of Anti’s eyes, that warmth gone. It’s truly like seeing a snake, creeping towards its prey.

 

_“Lawmen!”_

 

Everyone perks up at that and it quickly turns into a blur.

 

They take out their guns, heading to that open wagon where Jimmy is standing, and there are men in their horses on each side of the train. Jack’s eyes widen, ducking when there are gunshots in the air, and he gasps when hearing heavy footsteps inside. The passengers become even more agitated, trying to protect themselves between seats, and the Red Snake uses both of his golden pistols with a scowl. The Irishman’s breathing loses pace, not knowing what to do, but it’s Anti’s voice that snaps him out of it. He shouts Jack’s name and the boy jolts, looking up to see the man further ahead. The brown-haired man catches a few words, something about jumping out, and he can only nod desperately. The Hellbreakers knock down lawmen that walked into the train but Jimmy is struggling with someone, being pushed against a wall.

 

Jack doesn’t even think twice and runs towards them, groaning when pulling the lawman away. The Irishman punches his face, swearing at the hard impact, and he lets out a shaky breath when the guy falls. Jimmy pulls him by the shirt, urging them to go, and his heart beats like a drum. They leave through the end of the train, cold air hitting their faces, and they keep shooting. The person who was taking care of their horses shows up by the hill and Anti whistles in the night. The brown-haired man runs to Sunlight but he’s grinning under his bandana, seeing everyone jumping onto their horses while fighting those men. The Roy Twins are cackling, holding bags with money and jewelry, and Jack presses his thighs against Sunlight to make her go faster. Anti is next to him, Domino’s hooves singing with the rest, and the lawmen voices fade as they go. Jack laughs, looking back to see their silhouette and hear their muffled curses, and Jimmy Gold Fingers howls with a smile as well.

 

The freckled man guides them into a different path first, wanting to be sure no one will follow them, and Jack pushes the bandana down when everything calms down. His breathing is still uneven by the time they’re near the camp, huffing with alert eyes, but it’s a relief to come to a stop. Anti leaves his horse, everyone hitching their animals to posts, and the cowboys are already yelling over successful donations. The brown-haired man stands on grass, patting Sunlight, and Anti’s there next to him. The man knits his eyebrows before pushing down his own bandana and the Irishman’s eyes fall down to his lips.

 

“You’re shaking.”

 

“Huh?” Jack breathes, then looks down at his hands, finally realizing that. He’s trembling and his right hand is throbbing, knuckles already turning red. “Oh…”

 

The ginger-haired man sighs but makes a motion with his chin for the boy to follow. Jack’s knees are weak and he clears his throat, trying to relax after all that adrenaline. They pass by familiar faces, some greeting them back, and the Irishman sees Arin coming towards them with Tucker. They all stop by Anti’s tent, talking to their boss about Jack sneaking behind their backs, and the Irishman sends them an apologetic look. They are not mad, just not wanting trouble with Anti, and that makes the boy huff a small laugh. The freckled man shakes his head, waving at them to go before entering his tent. Jack walks in, watching the man’s back, and he frowns. When he comes near Anti by the dresser, the cowboy takes his right hand to place a damp towel around it. The Irishman’s lips part and the man cleans that broken skin quietly, both in the dim room. Jack gazes at him, ignoring his sore knuckles, and he purses his lips.

 

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

 

Anti takes a deep breath, chest rising before he exhales.

 

“You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he murmurs, still staring down at the boy’s hand. “Things don’t go smoothly sometimes, you saw how it is.”

 

Jack’s frown deepens. Although he’s not sure if being there makes him a criminal, he doesn’t regret going. It was scary as fuck when those men arrived, of course. All that shooting and yelling makes anyone shake. But he doesn’t regret it, no. Jack pulled himself together to help Jimmy and he rode Sunlight like there was no tomorrow, leaving that train behind. It was exhilarating. It was a different fear, not the one he deeply feels near a sheriff. He was in awe by Anti. The way he moved and stared at those people made him shiver, spellbinded. The man’s rough fingers brush against his skin, coming to a stop, and his shoulders are tense. Anti’s hunched over, head down. It’s something so out of character for Jack, to see him like that. His heart aches, realizing that the cowboy is worried over what he saw.

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” the Irishman whispers and Anti clenches his jaw. He turns his palm down so they can hold their hands and he steps closer, noses brushing. The cowboy’s eyes finally lock on his and Jack smiles. “I don’t care how crazy that may sound, but I liked seeing you in that way… And I like that I’m the only one who gets to taste you.”

 

Anti grunts before grabbing the boy by the chin, not using too much strength. The man won’t hurt Jack and that makes him smile even more. They’re only teasing one another and he loves how Anti’s eyes darken at his comment, shoulders relaxing. The more time they spend together, the more possessive they get. There’s a sense of power deep down his heart to have Anti in that way. That those people have no idea how they really are and what they can do. They don’t know that there’s warmth in the cowboy’s eyes. Jack sticks his tongue out, leaning forward to lick Anti’s lips for a brief second. The freckled man pulls back, letting go of Jack’s face, but the boy doesn’t miss his grin. Before he continues to speak, someone calls for Anti, and he sighs. They exchange a look and quietly leave the tent, seeing everyone gathering around to eat.

 

The Roy Twins are talking about the assault and Jimmy actually mentions that Jack helped out. It feels good for them to include him in the conversation, even though he really didn’t do anything. He stays with Arin and Tucker, once again apologizing, but they’re fine. The Irishman pokes the fire with a stick, watching the flames go up in the sky, and he drinks some wine. Not enough to get tipsy, only to celebrate with them for a bit. He keeps thinking about what just happened, glancing at Anti. The wine masks the faint taste of the cowboy’s lips and that’s shameful.

 

That thought crosses his mind again a couple of days later.

 

Jack blinks, laying down on grass, and he’s twirling a yellow daisy between his fingers while a warm sun cast down on him. The Irishman’s resting his head on Anti’s lap and the cowboy is leaning back on his arms to catch some sun. Both in that clearing as usual, their horses eating some grass close by. Jack spins that daisy lazily, looking up to see that Anti closed his eyes. Ginger hair moving with the wind. They just finished practicing more archery and the boy will go fishing with Arin in that afternoon, wanting to spend some time with the man. Jack takes a deep breath, thinking. He sits up but moves to be between Anti’s legs, staring at him. The freckled man opens his emerald eyes, hands coming up to Jack’s waist so naturally, and the birds sing around them. The boy purses his lips and the words that fall from his mouth feel like a forbidden whisper.

 

“Why don’t you want to kiss me?”

 

Jack sees genuine surprise on Anti’s face, as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t, but it’s gone as soon as it came. The man clears his throat, scowling and shaking his head lightly. The Irishman raises an eyebrow, still holding that flower in hands, and the cowboy adjusts himself with a sigh. Jack waits, frowning, and his heart sinks a bit with the thought of that being true. Of Anti not wanting that form of intimacy. He asks under his breath if this is prejudice, not understanding, but that only makes the man scowl harder. There’s a heavy grunt.

 

“That’s not it,” Anti murmurs, rubbing a thumb on the boy’s back.

 

“Then what is it? Is there something wrong with me? Should I-”

 

“No.” Jack holds back a sigh when being interrupted, looking down so the man won’t see how affected he is by that situation. Anti bumps his nose on the boy’s cheek, bringing him closer, and his voice is low. “There’s _nothing_ wrong with you, angel.”

 

The Irishman closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around the cowboy while nodding, and their embrace is warm. Anti pecks his neck and Jack caresses his hair, calming down his heart and trying not to press the matter. Even though there are still secrets between them, he doesn’t want to upset the man. He yearns for Anti’s lips against his, though. Jack craves a sweetness that it can only be found in his warm touch. It’s selfish of him, he knows. The ginger-haired man has shown so much kindness to him already and they get to be like _that_ , hugging in a clearing. He shouldn’t ask for more but it’s not just Anti that’s stubborn. Jack hums, melting in familiar arms, and leans back just enough to look at the cowboy. They stare through half-lidded eyes and the Irishman takes Anti’s hand, gently turning his palm down to place that yellow daisy there. The copper-haired man knits his eyebrows and Jack caresses his cheek, telling him to keep it. Anti murmurs that it’s just a flower, that he doesn’t need it.

 

“If you want me like I want you, you’ll keep it...” the boy whispers, wrapping the cowboy’s fingers around it. “I’m giving it to you, so it should mean the world to you.”

 

The copper-haired man blinks softly, staring at the daisy, and he’s quiet. Jack wants him to think about it, to only tell if he kept it once he’s sure of it. Anti nods and the Irishman hugs him, sighing onto the man’s chest.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not replying to some comments in these last two chapters! I got embarrassed for taking too long but know that I read them all!! Thank you! :')


	11. Don’t Know What We Had, But It Was Ours

Jack gets involved in more journeys.

 

It takes a few more days to convince the cowboy and more practices with a pistol, but he eventually participates in small missions. The Irishman didn’t think he had it in him. That he could be part of such things. He doesn’t harm anyone, though, and mostly stays in the background without using his gun. Jack’s curiosity always gets the best of him and Anti is fascinating to watch. The man is gorgeous and so powerful, always knowing what to do. It’s incredible to see how these things works, how everyone communicates and acts so fast. Whenever Jack goes with them, he wears a flat hat and covers his face with a bandana. They rob a bank from another town and he feels alive when running away, breathing hard under the fabric. Sometimes it’s only Jimmy, Arin and Tucker, ready to steal someone’s home. Jack notices how these houses they go belong to rich men, never from someone that desperately need every penny they own. It brings a small sense of relief in his heart, but he doesn’t mention it.

 

Robin, Ethan and Marlene shake their heads with a smile whenever Jack shares stories. They certainly get worried, loving their friend, but the boy assures them that he knows what he’s doing. That he can take care of himself. Robin pats his back, murmuring that it’s been a long time since they saw Jack so happy. It makes the brown-haired man teary-eyed but he jokingly punches his friend’s shoulder with a huff. Anti completely changed his life and it shows, he knows that. Jack thinks of the freckled man, a hint of red kissing his cheeks, and he remembers them in that clearing. He doesn’t know what Anti did with that flower, agreeing to wait for the man’s decision, and he longs to be in those warm arms again. The cowboy is not in his town at the moment and the boy didn’t question it when he left. The Hellbreakers are not innocent and Anti deals with other gangs. Jack can only wait that he comes back safe and sound. 

 

For now, he distracts himself and hangs out with his friends. He doesn’t forget to feed that stray dog, paying it a visit, and he plays with that wooden deer piece in his hands whenever anxiety hits him. Jack brushes Sunlight’s light hair, patting her in their garden, and she huffs at him. He tells her stories as well, sharing his feelings about the cowboy, and the days pass just like that. It’s after another week that he decides to visit the camp, hopping on Sunlight and calmly riding her. He sees the sheriff out of the corner of his eye when leaving Vincent Town and yet, he refuses to look at the man. Instead, he commands his horse to go faster and the wind brushes against his cheeks. The sun kisses his skin and they leave dust behind, enjoying some fresh air. Jack’s careful so no one is following him before heading towards the camp and it’s the Roy Twins that greet him first. He nods with a smile, everyone knowing him already, and he hitches Sunlight to a post for safety.

 

“He ain’t here yet.”

 

Jack turns away from his horse to see Tucker, hands on his hips, and the boy snorts.

 

 “I know,” he replies. “Doesn’t mean I can’t see you guys.”

 

Tucker puts a hand over his heart, pretending to be touched by that, and Jack rolls his eyes. He waves at Arin from the other side and he walks with Tucker around camp, chatting. The Irishman plays a bit of domino with Crazy Maddie and watches the Roy Twins tease each other, laughing with Arin. Eventually, however, he walks into Anti’s tent for some quiet. Jack sighs, letting the fabric close behind him, and the wooden floor creaks underneath his feet. He brushes his fingers against the man’s desk, seeing signs of carving here and there. He stares at sketchbooks and pieces of charcoal. Jack smiles, imagining Anti drawing, scowling at yellow paper. Smoking and smearing his hands. As much as he’d like to see those drawings, he doesn’t pry. The brown-haired man notices that knife stuck into the table. He wraps his fingers around the handle and pulls it, huffing when it comes out. The Irishman reads those initials again, A.D., and he wonders how many stories that weapon carries. How many men met their fate through it.

 

Jack purses his lips, walking towards that narrow bed, and he sits down. The mattress is thin, much like the blanket, and he knows how it feels to spend a night there. Jack lies down, still holding the knife in hands, and he watches how it shines whenever he moves it.  He sighs, turning around to rest a cheek against Anti’s pillow. It smells of the cowboy and that soothes him. He closes his eyes, listening to birds singing, and he takes a deep breath. The camp noises turn into background music, their voices blending in like a lullaby in that morning, and his grip loosens around the knife next to the pillow. He relaxes, intoxicated by that citric scent, and his heart beats slow.

 

It’s only when there’s a light touch on his cheek, that he stirs himself awake.

 

“Mm…” Jack knits his eyebrows, opening his eyes to see Anti’s figure. His lips part with a small gasp, immediately sitting up. The cowboy is sitting on the edge of the mattress, a hint of a smile on his face, and he raises an eyebrow. “Ah, fuck… Hey! I’m sorry, I d-didn’t… I didn’t mean to fall asleep… H-Hi… You’re back.”

 

Anti hums and Jack’s shoulders relax, staring at the man up close. His heart flutters, content to see him. Anti looks tired, but at least there are no bruises in sight. The freckled man is wearing a long black coat, no hat, and he needs to trim his beard. Jack tugs on it, leaning in with a sigh until their cheeks touch, and the man hums. Anti’s arms find his waist, pulling him closer, and Jack buries his face in the crook of the cowboy’s neck. He breathes into that scent, running his fingers through ginger locks. Jack whispers that he missed Anti and the freckled man tightens their hold. There’s a grunt, so the boy moves just enough to look at him, caressing his cheeks. The copper-haired man takes something out of his coat and Jack’s eyes fall down to his hand, seeing a new wooden piece. A grin immediately takes over the Irishman’s face and he takes it, feeling the man’s work.

 

“An eagle,” Jack whispers, admiring the carved wings. “That’s beautiful, Anti.”

 

“Come to LaBelle with me.”

 

The boy’s smile falls, blinking at him. “What?”

 

LaBelle is the biggest city he’s heard about. It’s an industrialized place, with factories and chimneys. _Chimneys_ , for fuck’s sakes. It’s where business happen and he can only imagine how alive it must be, full of people every day and night. It’s too far away for Jack and he never thought of going anyways. There was never a reason for him to leave Vincent Town. Anti murmurs that he badly needs a couple of days away from his stuff, wanting to rest without someone wanting to talk to him every five minutes. Jack knits his eyebrows, already mumbling that he can’t afford a stay in a city like that. The cowboy grunts in disagreement, frowning and shaking his head. He says that Jack shouldn’t worry about anything and it hits the Irishman a moment later that Anti wants to pay for everything. An _Oh_ falls from his lips but he nods, saying that he’ll go.

 

A hum coming from Anti’s lips tells Jack that he’s pleased and the cowboy murmurs for him to make more room. The Irishman moves just enough for him to lie down and the freckled man groans, resting an arm over his stomach. Jack watches him, chest moving up and down with his breathing, and he huffs with a smile. He does the same to be next to Anti, playing a bit with that wooden piece, and their routine is back. It doesn’t take too long for the ginger-haired man to fall asleep, exhausted from his trip, and Jack counts freckles until he dozes off again.

 

They don’t waste more time in the next day, planning to visit LaBelle already.

 

Anti warns his gang about what he wants to do and no one questions it, themselves deserving a small break. The brown-haired man packs the few clothes he has to spend three days in the city and he can’t contain the smile on his face while he does so. Jack says goodbye to Sunlight, whispering that Robin will take good care of her since they’ll go by train. There’s a whistle in the air that calls the Irishman’s attention and he walks on grass until he sees Anti with Domino. The boy’s smile widens and Arin is there with his own horse, its caramel color so beautiful under the morning light. Anti tilts his hat, greeting him, and Jack reaches an arm out to pat Domino. He greets Arin as well, who’s going until the train station with them. This way, he can take back the cowboy’s horse to camp without any trouble. The brown-haired man hops on Domino, resting his hands on Anti’s waist, and they ride while chatting. Jack can feel eyes on him when they leave town but it’s a thought that is quickly forgotten, too excited for what’s yet to come.

 

It’s funny to be in a train, after knowing what they did, but Anti insists that it’s different. That he wouldn’t let anyone steal from them. Jack snorts and they sit down together after leaving Domino with Arin. The Irishman’s by the window, holding his small bag with clothes, and he swallows when the train whistles. Anti’s at ease, ruffling his curls after taking off his hat, and the boy watches the view. It’ll take them two hours to arrive and they spend time talking in low voices. Sometimes just staring out the green fields and enjoying their silence. The thought of travelling with the leader of the Hellbreakers, the Red Snake himself, makes him chuckle at some point. He shakes his head and Anti sends him a look. Jack shares his thought with a grin, as if in disbelief, and that makes the freckled man huff.

 

When the train whistles for the last time, they finally arrive at LaBelle’s station and they walk side by side. His eyes widen once they step away from a small crowd, seeing the city from afar, and Anti pays someone to take them there with a wagon. It’s another ten minutes of waiting but Jack patiently does so, narrowing his eyes when looking at the sunny sky. The freckled man stares at him with a calm expression, wind hitting their skin. However, the Irishman’s patience disappears the moment the wagon stops, and he jumps out of the damn thing to run. There’s a brick arch right at the entrance, the biggest sign he ever saw reading _Welcome to LaBelle_ , and there are smokes in the background due to some fabrics. Jack stops after his first step into the city, breathing through his mouth with a smile. There are people walking on stone streets, minding their own business, and the sounds are so different. It’s loud and messy. Anti shows up beside him looking amused, hands on his pockets.

 

“What are you waiting for?”

 

“You,” Jack says, eyes turning into half-moons when looking at the copper-haired man. “C’mon!”

 

He takes Anti’s hand with a chuckle, both running further into the place. The freckled man mumbles something about them going to an inn first but Jack can’t wait anymore. He calls Anti an old man, looking around with curiosity. There are people selling in the streets, carts with handmade items or pieces of fabric, and the Irishman pulls the cowboy along. The man doesn’t complain, just follows. Jack points at everything that calls his attention and he gasps when catching sight of a sweet cart. The salesman greets the boy, wearing a white apron with red stripes, and the brown-haired man asks about the sweets. He never saw some of those. Anti’s looking at him a lot and Jack blushes, knowing he’s too agitated. The freckled man nods at the salesman, saying they’ll buy some, and that warms the boy’s heart. He feels like a kid, giggling and picking what he wants. Jack eats toffee and peanut brittle, letting Anti bite some of it as well. They walk aimlessly for a few hours, holding little bags full of sweets, and it’s so wonderful.

 

Anti guides them to an inn after that, wanting to rent them a good room before it was too late. They both ignore how the lady behind the counter eyes them weird, when the cowboy requests a double bed, and Jack ugly snorts going up the inn stairs. Their bedroom is large, their bed in the middle faces a window, and there’s a fireplace on the right. The brown-haired man likes the dark wood and the red sheets are soft. Anti takes off his boots and coat, falling on the mattress with a huff. Jack places their bags on a chair before crawling up to him, laying on his stomach. Anti visibly relaxes, closing his eyes, and his frown leaves his face. The Irishman puts a hand over the man’s chest, sighing. He’s so enamored. He’s so in love, it’s ridiculous. Jack leans in, brushing his mouth against Anti’s cheek before planting a long kiss there. His lips make a sound when pulling away and the freckled man is staring up at him through light eyelashes. Emerald meeting sapphire.

 

Jack whispers a thank you for the man bringing him there and calloused fingers caresses the boy’s cheek. Anti murmurs they can go out for dinner tonight, but he wants to do something first. The Irishman perks up at that, understanding he wants to go alone. The cowboy promises it won’t be long, less than an hour, and the boy takes a good look at him. Jack knows he’s telling the truth. He lets Anti get up from bed, watching him go to a dresser by the window to wash his face. The brown-haired man purses his lips, not wanting to be left behind but trusting the man. Once the door closes next to Jack, he stands up to look out a window. The afternoon light barely kissing the city, hiding behind buildings and fabrics. He sees Anti walking down the street and he smiles before jumping back into the soft mattress. The Irishman’s sigh is long, relaxing, and it’s good to be away from that town.

 

Anti keeps his word and comes back in no time, showing up by the door with a hand behind his back. Jack sits up in bed, knitting his eyebrows at the weird posture. The copper-haired man approaches him, extending his arm to show a rectangular white box, and the boy’s lips part.

 

“Is that for me?” he asks and Anti nods.

 

Jack takes the box in hands, placing on the mattress, and he remembers the first time the cowboy gave him something. That chocolate bar on a rainy day. He shyly smiles, opening the rather large box. There’s a white shirt inside, formal and with a dark blue tie resting over it. He touches it, admiring the patterns on the shoulders. There are formal pants underneath it and a black jacket. His jaw drops, shaking his head. He glances at Anti, then back at the outfit. The freckled man shuffles on his feet, asking if Jack liked the gift. The boy chuckles, nodding and calling him silly. He lifts himself just enough to wrap his arms around Anti’s shoulders, hugging him and kissing his cheek. The freckled man grumbles, but the tips of his ears are pink. 

 

“I got us tickets for a play in the theater…” he says, not minding the boy practically hanging on his neck. “We can go after dinner.”

 

Jack’s smile goes ear to ear, heart fluttering with the thought of them going on a date. “That sounds like a good plan, cowboy.”

 

It’s funny how intimate they’ve gotten.

 

Not that sexual intimacy, no. It’s something completely different to have both of them getting changed in the same room. To have no shame in getting naked in front of the other, calmly walking around the place with their scars exposed. Anti cleans his face, trimming his beard and Jack takes a quick bath. He likes having the cowboy glancing at him. The Irishman puts on the new pants, asking how did the man get his size so well. The copper-haired man murmurs Jack’s body is something hard to forget and the boy ducks his head to hide his blush. Anti’s muscles dance when putting on his white shirt, closing the buttons and lifting the collar for his bolo tie. It’s made of leather, with a golden jewelry to rest down his neck that Jack adores. The Irishman tucks in his own shirt but he struggles with his tie, so Anti comes up to him to help. The brown-haired man stares at him, their noses almost touching, and he has to bite his bottom lip not to kiss the cowboy.

 

Anti’s jacket is black but with yellow details at the shoulders and Jack raises his eyebrows when he brushes his hair back. The Irishman grins at him, saying he’s really making an effort there to impress, and Anti only grunts. His curls are tamed back and they put on their black shoes, ready for the night. Jack finds him as gorgeous as ever, no ginger hair covering his eyes. They leave side by side, keeping their hands in their pockets in public. The evening comes and Anti takes him to a restaurant, twice as big as their town’s saloon. The place has dim light, chandeliers hanging down the tall ceiling, and the floor has a black and white pattern. The tables are of a high quality wood, a white cloth over it with silver cutlery. There are people having dinner, quietly talking with one another, and there’s a bar in the end of the room. Jack eyes folks playing poker in a corner, men with thick mustaches and women with beautiful gowns.

 

Before the Irishman can make a comment over how out of place he feels, Anti hums as a sign for him to follow. They sit at a table for two, next to a window, and it’s there that he eats delicious food. Of course that Anti asks for the best plate in the house and no one wants to bother a man like him, his tone of voice saying it all. They drink red wine and talk between bites, chuckles escaping from pink lips. It’s a shame that they can’t touch, even more when a strand of hair falls over Anti’s forehead. He does jokes about it, saying those curls are difficult to keep in place. The sun sets while they eat and the street lights are what illuminate the city. Jack drinks just enough to get a buzz going, but his face turns hot with the way Anti looks at him. It’s the cowboy who pays it all and they brush their shoulders on their way out, unhurried steps in the night.

 

Jack always wanted to go to a theater. He’s never even been close to one and he really does feel like a kid, sitting down in one of those red chairs. The stage is illuminated so bright and Jack’s in awe by those curtains, their golden details shining even from afar. They are rather in the back of the place but it’s comfortable, good enough to see. Jack likes how it feels somewhat hidden, with not many people around them. Anti watches him from his left and the brown-haired man huffs with a smile, wondering if the cowboy drank to much. He looks calm, blinking softly, and his lips part before talking to Jack.

 

“You’re radiating, angel…” the freckled man whispers.

 

The brown-haired man looks at him funny, a half frown and half smile. He didn’t expect the man to say something so honest, right there and then. The Irishman opens his mouth, shaking his head lightly, but the theater comes to life before them. They turn their heads forward, watching the curtains slowly go up, and the murmurs fade away in the crowd. Jack discreetly moves his hand to touch Anti’s, biting his inner cheeks to hold back a smile. The freckled man entwine their fingers and they take a deep breath. The characters’ costumes are beautiful and Jack pays more attention to the way they act, rather than the plot. He likes seeing their expressions being so open and voices loud in the theater. Anti rubs a thumb on the boy’s hand and Jack can’t resist turning his face at him. Those warm eyes gazing at him. The Irishman takes a quick look around them but everyone is watching the play. So he finally raises a hand to brush away that curl, fixing Anti’s hair. The man leans into the touch with a hum, letting the boy tuck his hair behind his ear.

 

Jack doesn’t remember how the play ends, but he doesn’t care.

 

All he wants to remember right now is how it feels to be pushed against the wall by Anti. How it feels to sigh deeply once they’re back at their bedroom, hands roaming on their bodies. The copper-haired man lifts him off the ground and his lips finds Jack’s neck, marking with future hickeys. The Irishman pulls him closer, shutting his eyes and breathing through his mouth. He wants to remember that warmth spreading through his body, those rough lips brushing against his skin. Anti’s beard making him shudder and chuckle under his breath. The freckled man hums into his ear, tightening their hold, and Jack whispers something about their clothes. The cowboy takes off his jacket with the Irishman’s help, both not wanting to let go of each other. Jack giggles, pulling and unbuttoning Anti’s shirt.

 

The Irishman tugs on the man’s belt, breathing heavier in the night. He kisses Anti’s chest, brushing his fingers on muscles and scars, and he starts going down. Jack pants against freckled skin, knees bending to rest on the floor, but there are hands on his shoulders that stops him. Jack looks up and Anti’s eyebrows are knit, murmuring he doesn’t want the brown-haired man on his knees. The Irishman’s heart clenches, moving up to cup the cowboy’s face. Anti takes care of the rest of their clothes, quietly removing Jack’s shirt and pants. There’s no shame. Not a hint of embarrassment crosses the boy’s mind when their warm skin touch. The copper-haired man lifts him off the ground and the Irishman laughs, wrapping his legs around his waist. Anti guides them towards bed and Jack messes with his hair, wanting to feel those curls. The cowboy sits in the middle of the mattress and the Irishman’s on his lap, both comfortable that way.

 

It’s Jack that wraps his fingers around their cocks, sighing and slowly stroking their shafts. Anti’s hoarse moan is like a melody into his ear and they move their hips, panting. The freckled man cups the Irishman’s ass cheeks, lightly biting his shoulder. Jack rubs his thumb on the underside of Anti’s cock, watching him grunt, and there’s precum smearing his hand. Their hearts beat faster, eyes fluttering with pleasure, and Jack curses under his breath when the man takes over. The cowboy jerks him off, a hand cupping the Irishman’s cheek so they can look at each other. Jack moans, arching his back, and Anti touches down his balls. The brown-haired man spreads his legs some more when the man’s fingers brush against his asshole, leaning in to wrap his arms around strong shoulders. Anti slides a finger inside him and Jack knits his eyebrows, getting used to it. The ginger-haired man stretches him gently and a mewl falls from the Irishman’s lips.

 

Anti curves his fingers and Jack touches the man’s girthy cock, both teasing each other. The brown-haired man whispers that he wants the cowboy inside him and there’s growl. Jack shudders when the man pulls his hand away and they adjust each other. Anti holds the Irishman by the waist, his grip firm. Jack lowers himself into the freckled man’s cock, lips parting at the feeling. He rests his forehead against Anti’s, locking their gaze, and he slowly lifts himself before taking some more. Jack half sighs, half moans when the man’s shaft slides into him, and his thighs tremble. A thin line of sweat kisses their skin and the Irishman buries his face in the crook of Anti’s neck, moving up and down. He’s rock hard, erection smearing their stomachs, and he lets out hot breaths of air.

 

“A-Ah, Anti…” Jack breathes, riding the man and caressing his hair. “Yes… F-Fuck! Faster… Anti…”

 

“-El…”

 

“What?”

 

The freckled man’s words were too slurred, lost between their moans. Anti hugs him tight, chest-to-chest, and his voice is low. Jack still doesn’t catch it, knitting his eyebrows, so he pulls back to see him. The Irishman cups the cowboy’s face, breathing hard but coming to a stop. Anti’s eyes are shut but the boy calls for him softly, brushing thumbs on freckled cheeks. The man blinks, staring at him with glassy eyes.

 

“My name…” he murmurs. “It’s Abél. Call me Abél...”

 

Jack’s heart aches and a broken whine fills the room. His face scrunches up in emotion, not believing that man. Did Anti really tell him his real name? Did he? All Jack ever knew was what people called him. The Irishman’s eyes fill with tears, so content to hear him. To have the cowboy trusting him like that. Anti’s face is pure bliss and he’s so relaxed. Jack smiles, nodding, and caresses more ginger locks. The man closes his eyes at the feeling, sighing, and the brown-haired man whispers his name. Anti whimpers, trying to turn his face away to hide his emotion, but it only gives Jack an opportunity to kiss his cheek. Abél. They embrace one another and move again, much slower this time. The freckled man turns them around to lie Jack in bed and the Irishman rests his head on a soft pillow. Anti looms over him and he thrusts forward, their hips smacking in the room. Jack’s mouth falls open, toes curling, and he digs his nails on the man’s arms. Anti thrusts again and he rips out a shout from the Irishman, bed creaking.

 

They quicken their pace, finding a good rhythm, and Anti mumbles something about people hearing them. Jack laughs between broken moans, not giving a fuck, and tells the cowboy to keep going. Anti hums with a grin of his own and he buries his face in the crook of the Irishman’s neck. Jack’s whole body shudders when the freckled man grinds deep into him, his back dancing beautifully above him. They’re desperately clinging onto one another, sheets shuffling underneath, and there’s a warmth below their navels. The tip of Jack’s cock is red, swollen, and precum trickles down his shaft. He swears and calls the man, over and over. Abél’s name tastes like honey in his tongue and his chest hurts from breathing too fast. Anti fucks him rough and deep, but there’s a sweetness in every move. Jack knows that. He feels it. His eyes roll back, choking when the cowboy’s erection hits the perfect spot. The pleasure builds up and Anti grunts into his ear, licking and sucking the Irishman’s neck.

 

“I’m g-gonna cum,” Jack mumbles, vision blurry from bliss, but then he sucks in air when the man abruptly stops. “I w-Ngnh… Fuck, Abél! Wh-”

 

“Mm?” Anti lifts his head to look down at him and, jesus fucking christ. He looks like a mess. Hair disheveled, flushed cheeks and hazy emerald eyes. Gorgeous. “Tell me, angel.”

 

Jack shivers, thighs twitching, and the freckled man leans in more. Lips barely touching, but enough for the Irishman to moan. “M-Make me cum… Please. I w-wanna cum, make me cum.”

 

Anti slides his hands down, cupping Jack’s ass cheeks, and the cowboy rams him into the mattress. The Irishman arches his back and he throws an arm above his head, fingers wrapping around the wooden bed frame. His knuckles turn white, trying to stay still with every pound. Jack shuts his eyes and he cums with a silent scream, warm jizz smearing their stomachs. He cums hard, spasming in bed, and Anti swears under his breath. The copper-haired man shudders, giving a final thrust before unloading inside the Irishman. Jack’s cum trickles down his twitching cock and Anti sighs before lying on top of him. The brown-haired man huffs, trying to catch his breath, and his heart is beating a mile a minute. He blinks at the ceiling, legs going slack, and the cowboy hums.

 

Anti bumps his nose on Jack’s cheek and the boy chuckles, running a hand on the man’s back. The quietness that follows is welcome and so comfortable. They take a deep breath and Jack whispers the freckled man’s name one more time, saying it’s beautiful. Anti blinks heavy, lost in his ecstasy, and the Irishman wants to keep that memory close to his heart. He tells the man to sleep and there’s only another hum as an answer. Anti gently pulls out, although reluctantly, and Jack brushes strands of hair away from his face. They don’t bother to clean themselves, too tired, but they pull the covers up to sleep. The brown-haired man turns around so Anti can wrap an arm around him and they fit perfectly.

 

Jack couldn’t wish for a better night.

 

 

 

 


	12. We Were Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Implied Abusive Relationship, Mentions of Physical Abuse. Please, proceed with care!**

Anti is fast asleep and he looks so peaceful.

 

The covers are up to Jack’s nose. only his fluff of hair showing along with blue eyes. It’s been a couple of minutes since he stirred himself awake but Anti is still dead to the world. Jack watches him for a bit, liking how soft he looks. The man’s lips are ajar and his copper curls are spread all over the pillow. His side of the covers are thrown away just enough to rest below his hips. Jack’s eyes wander, scanning that freckled face, and his heart flutters with affection. The Irishman’s cheeks redden, remembering last night, and he can’t resist to raise a hand towards Anti. He’s careful, not wanting to wake up the man. Jack rests his hand on the cowboy’s cheek, lightly caressing him, and there’s a low snore in the air. The boy holds back a snort, finding him endearing. Last night was breathtaking, but it made Jack realize something. Passionate words that are carved into his heart, that completely belong to Anti. No one else. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance to say them, to make the cowboy hear what he has to say. Jack’s lips part.

 

“I… I’m madly and unconditionally... in love with you,” he then whispers. Voice so low, almost as if he’s afraid of hearing himself. Anti continues to sleep heavy, chest calmly rising up and down. Jack swallows, grimacing. “I didn’t think this would happen… I didn’t expect you. But, my god, I want to spend every second of my life by your side.”

 

The Irishman blinks, the corners of his eyes burning with unshed tears, and his throat threatens to close. He swallows once more, burying that feeling so he won’t get more emotional than that. Jack retreats his hand, rubbing an eye, and he sniffs before getting up. He walks up to that dresser, naked, and he stretches before washing his face. He rinses his mouth and takes a good look at himself in the mirror. Jack’s body is marked by Anti’s mouth and he huffs with a smile, dragging a hand over his face. The Irishman gets closer to the window, quietly watching the city through the red curtain, but it doesn’t take too long to hear the man waking up. Jack turns his face to see Anti rubbing his own eyes, groaning under his breath while stretching his body. The brown-haired man murmurs a good morning, ignoring how his heart flutters over what he said before, and the cowboy grumbles. Unaware.

 

Anti sighs, resting an arm under his head, and he looks at the boy with sleepy eyes. Jack smiles before going towards bed, making his way up to the cowboy. A hand caresses his thigh, up to his waist, and the Irishman has goosebumps while sitting next to the man. Jack stares down at those gorgeous emeralds and Anti lightly traces his skin. It’s a calm morning and Jack whispers the man’s real name, falling so easily off his tongue. There’s a hint of a smile on the freckled man’s face, blinking slowly, and it’s something the boy will never forget. They murmur to each other, talking lazily in bed without a care in the world. That day he learns Anti’s full name, Abél Ó Dubháin, and the man gives him that carved knife. Jack traces those initials with a finger, both still undressed, and he accepts that gift. It was Anti’s first weapon and he’ll take good care of it. He promises.

 

It’s almost outrageous to leave that city.

 

There’s a bittersweet feeling in Jack’s heart the more time passes, not wanting to go. Their last two days are spent well and the Irishman has so much fun. They watch attractions during the day, eating sweets and good food. They share their warmth at night and it’s just them. It’s hard not to hold Anti’s hand when they find their way back to the train station and they exchange knowing looks, a huff and a snort. They watch the sunset through the train window and the way back home is just like before. Arin is there with Anti’s horse and they take him to Vincent Town, chatting while riding until the moon rises. Arin is happy to see them again and The freckled man listens to him talk about their people. Jack carries his bag of clothes and he sees a familiar mud road, arriving too soon for his liking. The Irishman hops off Domino and Anti looks down at him, their eyes saying more than words. Jack smiles and murmurs a goodbye for now, turning his back once the cowboy nods under the moonlight.

 

It’s far too late in the day now to visit his friends, but he can’t wait to talk to them. The brown-haired man quietly heads home, missing Sunlight but knowing she was treated well. Jack walks up his hill and goes straight to the back of his house, wanting to see her. It’s dark but he knows that place like the back of his hand and she neighs when he gets closer. He giggles, calling her name, and she huffs strongly. Jack whispers she’s a wonderful girl, petting her. Sunlight shakes her head and huffs more, raising her front paws to stomp onto the ground. Her nostrils flare and Jack knits his eyebrows at how tense she seems. He soothes her, thinking she probably saw a small animal that scared her, but she persists. Jack turns to look around the garden, but his face falls when noticing his own home. The back door is ajar and there’s a dim light coming from his bedroom window. The Irishman sucks in air, heart skipping a beat. There’s no way he forgot to close his house and Robin is sleeping at his own place at this hour. It’s impossible for it to be Anti as well, only just now being apart.

 

Jack calms Sunlight down again but his voice is too low, eyes not leaving that light, and he presses his lips together. He feels the weight of Anti’s knife resting against his back when he steps forward, and he tries to be as quiet as possible. The Irishman carefully opens the back door some more, getting inside with a stiff body, and his eyes scan the house. The small hallway reveals part of his living room, but nothing quite seems to be out of place. When he walks towards his bedroom door, in his right, the floor creaks. He grimaces, waiting for a few seconds, and it feels like forever until he stops by the door way. Jack’s heart drops down into his stomach and he can’t even bring himself to swallow, immediately freezing in place. There’s a figure sitting in his bed, a man with a white shirt and vest. A golden star on his chest. The Irishman’s eyes fall down to the man’s hands, seeing he’s holding one of Anti’s carved pieces. He’s looking at all of them, humming under his breath, and Jack wants that to stop. He can’t touch those. Don’t. They don’t belong to him.

 

“I’m so glad you’re back, doll.” Felix’s voice is like a hammer into his skull, despite being so smooth. He hates how sincere the sheriff sounds. There’s a silent beat before the man continues, huffing with a small smile. “C’mon now, don’t just stand there… Sit.”

 

Felix taps the mattress and that makes Jack finally swallow, snapping his eyes up to the man’s cheek. He’s still holding that deer piece.

 

“I want… you to go,” the Irishman mutters, doing his best to not cause any trouble. “Please, just leave my house.”

 

The dim light flickers every so slightly, flame trapped in an oil lantern on a nightstand, and the air between them is dense. Felix’s smile doesn’t falter but he hums, clearly not liking what the boy said. Jack waits, clenching his hands, and the sheriff puts that wooden deer down. Felix’s answer is calm, saying he’ll like to stay a bit more, and he insists in the boy sitting next to him. A nauseating feeling builds up to his throat but he forces himself to walk. He sits by the end of the mattress, with a good space between them, and he looks forward. Felix clicks his tongue and taps the bed again, wanting him closer, and this is too familiar. Jack bite his inner cheeks, trying to ground himself. He has Anti’s knife with him. He has it. If something happens, he can grab it easily. Jack takes a deep breath, moving closer to the man. He can do that. He knows how to defend himself. Felix caresses his back before wrapping a hand around the Irishman’s waist. Jack didn’t think it was possible to get more tense, fighting back a shudder.

 

“I don’t want you to run away from me this time,” Felix whispers into his ear, too sweet for the Irishman’s liking. “My boys have been watching you for a while… You went to LaBelle without me. You know how much I wanted to take you there, doll...” Jack grimaces, trying to turn his face away, but the man pulls him some more. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, if that’s what you want. I’m jealous of that cowboy of yours… We gotta do something about that, hm? I let you have your time with him, but now let’s stop. I’m getting tired of this cat and mouse chase,” he chuckles.

 

“What the fuck do you want...?” the boy speaks through his teeth.

 

Felix’s grin stretches. “I want you to break his heart.”

 

Jack turns his face without thinking twice and he finally meets the sheriff’s eyes after so long. Grey eyes meet blue and time stops. Every breath of air takes an infinity to fill his lungs, chest rising so slow, and those cold eyes pierce into his skull. He knows them. He knows that man and what he’s capable of. They’re so close, noses almost brushing, and he’s too self-conscious of Felix’s breath softly hitting his cheeks. The Irishman is met with a beautiful face that hides a wolf underneath. Jack sees someone he once loved so desperately, someone that brought him so much pain. He was a fool to believe in the man’s caress but he remembers it all. He remembers those grey eyes turning into half-moons. He remembers his own lips stinging from a cut whenever he smiled back. Jack exhales, that orange glow illuminating their frames, and he remembers everything that Anti is not. 

 

“That’s not gonna happen,” he whispers. “I thought you were smarter than this, Felix. You can’t make me do anything. Not anymore… I’m not gonna stop seeing him. I just want you to go. Just leave me _alone._ ”

 

The blond-haired man says he will and Jack huffs, not buying it. However, he seems to forget how persistent Felix can be and how he’ll always find a way to get what he wants. Jack hears the sheriff talk about how some of his men have been following the boy and that he knows about Anti’s camp. That they know where it is. Jack’s stomach folds and a numbness kisses his whole body, an exhaustion covering him like a blanket. Felix calmly threatens to hurt them, especially his friends. Robin. Marlene. Ethan. No. _No._ Felix always keeps his word. It’s not an empty threat. It never was. Jack felt that in his skin. My god… The corners of his eyes fill with tears, looking down at his lap, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t want his friends to get hurt, but he… He can’t. He can’t do that. Not after everything that happened between him and Anti. Felix soothes him, caressing his hair, and Jack flinches. God, he wants to throw up.

 

“H-He…” the boy chokes, then swallows before shutting his eyes. “He’ll never believe me.”

 

“He will, if we don’t rush ourselves…”

 

And by the time the man leaves his house, Jack’s tears stream down his face.

 

He weeps, curled up in his cold bed, and his heart aches. All that happiness from before is taken away from him in just a quick moment and there’s only fear. Felix will order his men to keep an eye on his friends, in case the boy tries something funny, and Jack knows there will be no privacy for now on. He can’t risk his friends’ lives, especially after how much they helped him. It’s not who he is. The Irishman’s face scrunches up, so lost on what to do. He’ll have to push Anti away and this is all so sudden. It’s such a shock. So unfair. He doesn’t want to lose Anti. Not like that. He needs time to think and put himself together, Felix’s visit shaking him to his core. Jack cries himself to sleep, face puffy and eyes red, and his dreams are a blur. They leave a bitter taste in the back of his throat and he wakes up even more exhausted. He doesn’t move from bed for a while, staring at nothing while the sun rises. Damp eyelashes batting against porcelain skin, lying on his stomach. The birds sing but he doesn’t care for them. There’s static in his mind, blinking slowly with an arm hanging off the mattress.

 

When Jack gathers enough strength to get up, he takes a bath and forces down a cup of coffee before leaving his house. He looks around, already paranoid that he’s being watched, and he takes Sunlight with him. She neighs, walking them down the hill, and the boy sighs. The morning is grey, matching him, but he forces a smile when going towards the saloon. They don’t need to know. Jack will protect them, just like they protected him before. It’s the least he can do. So, when Ethan comes running to him, the Irishman laughs with him. They exchange words and the brunet drags him inside the saloon, calling their friends. Jack hugs Robin too hard, lingering more than he should, and the man does ask what’s wrong. The brown-haired man whispers he just missed everyone and Marlene kisses his cheek. Jack talks about his time with Anti, trying not to get teary, and Ethan sighs lovingly. He does everything he can to distract himself, ignoring Robin’s worried gaze.

 

As time passes during the day, Jack notices someone watching him at the saloon. He can only sigh behind the counter, knowing it’s one of Felix’s men, and Robin purses his lips. He asks Jack if he should kick the man out, but the boy shakes his head.

 

“Something is wrong,” Robin talks under his breath, not wanting to call attention towards them. “Are you alright?”

 

Jack drags a hand over his face. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Robin. I can’t… I can’t really talk about it. Not yet…”

 

It pains him to hide something like that from his dear friend. The light-haired man hums, not pressing the matter but trying to offer help. Jack’s smile is weak, appreciating the concern, and he makes sure to say that Anti has nothing to do with it. Jack doesn’t even know when he’s going to the camp. Should he even go? Certainly Anti would notice something strange if he doesn’t, though. He’s been hanging out way more with them, so the cowboy hasn’t been in Vincent Town for a while. Will he be able to face Anti? To look at him in the eyes and pretend he doesn’t care? Slowly pushing him away, despite loving him? Jack should have known that Felix would pull some shit like that. Fuck. This is all so confusing and agonizing all over again.

 

It takes him a couple of days to visit camp and Felix watches him leave their town, nodding and tilting his hat at Jack.

 

The boy sighs while riding Sunlight and the days continue to turn grey. It drizzled a bit before he left his home, so the roads are muddy and the air is damp. Jack’s careful with his horse and he procrastinates his arrival there, watching fields and passing wagons. He follows their usual path calmly and someone greets him, already knowing that Jack is welcome. The Irishman nods, walking into the camp with shoulders down. He barely stops by a post where the horses rest, when Anti shows up, and the Irishman gasps at the sudden figure. The freckled man immediately takes him off Sunlight, not even giving the boy time to hitch his horse, and a giggle falls from his lips. Anti wraps his arms around Jack’s waist, his feet hanging off the ground, and he looks up at the brown-haired man. Jack laughs some more, though knits his eyebrows, telling the man to put him down. The cowboy walks around camp, holding him so easily, and Jack takes off his hat to caress ginger hair. People call them out, some whistles, and Tucker’s shaking his head from afar.

 

The Irishman’s eyes turn into half-moons, even though his heart is heavy, and he lets himself be carried away. He shuffles with every move Anti makes and they keep looking at each other. Jack sighs, leaning down to wrap his arms around the man’s shoulders, and they get inside Anti’s tent. The ginger-haired man adjusts them until they’re both hugging one another and Jack breathes into his scent, grimacing and tightening their hold. Anti grunts, murmuring that he missed the boy, and that makes the Irishman huff with a smile. Ah. The freckled man has no idea how much Jack misses him, every second.

 

“Hey there…” he whispers, moving just enough to look at him again. Anti does frown for a split second, a hand going up to cup the boy’s cheek, and he asks if everything is alright. Damn. They really know each other that well now, huh? Jack grins, wrapping fingers on the man’s wrist, and he nods. “Yeah… Everything is fine, Abél.”

 

That distracts the man, perking up at his real name, and there’s contentment in his eyes. Anti whispers he just has to finish some notes but the Irishman doesn’t mind, just wanting to be there. Jack’s smile falls as soon as Anti turns away, heading to his desk, and it’s too hard. It’s too painful to do this. The cowboy trusts him wholeheartedly, will say yes to anything he says. Jack knows his _name._  They’ve grown in these long months together. They’ve learned their limits and understood one another. They shared stories no one will ever hear, just them. To break a bond like that… How does someone live afterwards? How do they keep standing? Anti’s sitting on his chair, scowling at papers and writing down notes, and Jack watches him wistfully. He hopes the man knows he’s trying to protect everyone. That he’s being anything but selfish, as much as he’d like to be. The brown-haired man wants to scream his heart out, to rip out his own hair, but he swallows all of it. There will be time for that later.

 

For a brief moment, his lips part and the truth is right there on the tip of his tongue. He’s ready to tell everything that happened, not quite having the heart to lie, but then he remembers that threat. It’s not the first time Felix uses Jack’s friends to get control of a situation and he recalls how terrifying it was when Ethan was followed by a couple of men, a long time ago. He remembers the young man’s face, explaining what happened, and Jack knew it was his fault. Just because he argued with Felix one time, trying to escape from him. The Irishman’s mouth closes. He can’t tell the truth. Anti would seek for Felix in a heartbeat and there would be chaos. No. He just sits back on the cowboy’s bed and he goes on with the day without a word. The ginger-haired man does point it out that he’s quieter than usual, but Jack whispers he’s just tired. That it’ll pass. Some day, it will. Maybe.

 

He starts refusing Anti’s touch first.

 

The cowboy’s hands wander one night in that tent, feeling his waist, and he hugs the boy from behind. Jack knits his eyebrows, supporting his arms on that dresser, and he sighs under his breath. Anti pecks his neck, fingers sliding down his pants, and the Irishman closes his eyes with a weak moan. He throws his head back but curses, whispering he’s not really feeling it tonight. Anti’s touch stops and the brown-haired man grimaces, not having the heart to look at him in the mirror’s reflection. The freckled man breathes into his ear, hands coming up to his waist, and Jack knows he’s thinking. Watching the boy with a frown. Anti grunts, brushing his lips one last time on the boy’s neck before stepping back. He leaves the tent to join his gang around the fire and Jack’s left alone, ashamed. Wondering what he did to deserve any of this. It’s so hard to push Anti away, when all he wants is to close that space between them.

 

Whenever he looks around, there’s someone watching him to make sure he won’t step out of line. Jack feels nauseous every day, not safe in his own home. When he goes hunting, it’s too quiet, and Anti is already questioning him too much. The Irishman brushes it off and the cowboy asks if he did something wrong. Jack holds back a huff, just walking in a forest with a bow and arrow. He wants to say the man is perfect and that he shouldn’t worry, but nothing passes his lips. Anti is left with a silence that is only broken by the rush of wind, whenever Jack tries shooting an arrow at an animal. Even the gang notices a distance and Arin even asks if he should talk to the cowboy, as if he’s hurt the boy. It’s funny. Jack’s the one who’s carving wounds into their hearts. It gets to the point where they are in the verge of an argument, close to raising their voices whenever the Irishman insists there’s nothing. Anti scowls more and he’s closing himself again, reminding the boy of how they were in the beginning.

 

Felix makes sure to pay Jack a visit every now and then, getting too close once again. The Irishman couldn’t be more disgusted with himself, telling the man what he’s doing and both trying to come up with an idea. It’s obvious that Anti is furious after a week, looking like a bomb ready to explode when Jack refuses another caress, so it doesn’t take too long for him to prepare himself. The brown-haired man walks into the camp with shoulders down, holding a little cotton bag in hands, and he enters Anti’s tent with a deadpan face. The man’s on his desk, resting a cheek on a hand while writing down something. He’s wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Jack walks up to him. The brown-haired man opens the small bag before turning it upside down, watching all of those carved pieces fall onto the desk. The cowboy frowns, looking at them, and Jack also throws some cash.

 

“That should be enough for all our nights,” he speaks. “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

 

Anti’s head snaps up at him with a scowl. “What?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

They exchange a look and there’s an uncomfortable pause. Green eyes scan his face, moving back and forth, and Jack stands still. Anti’s confusion is clear and he murmurs this is an awful joke, not in the mood for it. The brown-haired man replies that he’s serious, that he’s tired of pretending and that he needs to find someone else. Being trapped with only one person doesn’t give him enough money. Anti gets up and Jack follows his move, raising his chin. They’re glaring at one another and the freckled man shakes his head lightly. He says that’s not possible and that the boy wasn’t pretending. Jack disagrees, smirking.

 

“I’m a whore. I’m paid to make people believe me. Did you really think I’d stay with you all my fucking life? Please… Abél. That’s pathetic.”

 

Something crosses in Anti’s eyes, a hint of a doubt finally showing, and the Irishman has to hold back the urge to swallow. Using the man’s real name is a stab into the heart and Anti feels it.

 

“Is this him? Is him behind this shit?” the freckled man glares, his anger building up. “Because you’re fucking smarter than this, Seán.”

 

Once again, for a split second, he wants to yell the truth. This is a gap for him to explain. There’s time to apologize and not ruin anything. Jack blinks, seeing Marlene’s cheek bruised, and he grits his teeth. He paces around the room, both getting frustrated with each other, and they start arguing. The Irishman raises his tone of voice to match Anti’s and they shake their arms in exasperation, wanting to end this. The copper-haired man runs a hand through his hair, yelling that this is ridiculous, and he’s certain that Felix is involved. Anti is no fool. Jack knows that. He makes a motion to leave but the man grabs his wrist, not letting go no matter how much the boy pulls his arm. Jack groans, heart clenching.

 

“Let me go! I said what I said! If you don’t believe me, that’s your problem! I’m sick of this! You don’t know me like he does anyway, so why the fuck do you care?!” Jack snaps and Anti’s nose flares. “Felix did more for me than you’ll ever do! He didn’t just promise me to give anything I want, he actually showed how much he cares! You?! You don’t even have balls to kiss me!”

 

The cowboy’s grip loosens, so Jack turns around to leave. He walks out of the tent with teary eyes but Anti follows. The Irishman hurries his steps, ignoring how everyone is watching them, and the freckled man shouts his name. Jack doesn’t look back but then there are hands pulling by the waist, making him groan. He turns to shove Anti’s chest, telling him to stop, and there are whispers around them. Jack sees familiar faces glued to them, wondering what is happening, and they all must have heard them fighting. Fuck. Every word leaving his mouth hurts. The Irishman’s heart races, grimacing at Anti’s face. The man looks so torn and confused. Jack lets out a whimper when there are calloused fingers around his wrist. He shakes his head, closing his eyes.

 

“If I kissed you, you would be mine,” Anti mutters and the Irishman knits his eyebrows. “To me, it means I would give myself to you completely. I was afraid of falling, you hear me? A kiss... is an act of love and that’s a total surrender to another person. I’d give myself to you. It’s something... out of control, something I never thought I would feel. I never thought I would _want_ to surrender.”

 

The brown-haired man turns to look at him, tears escaping his eyes, and Anti’s gaze is intense. He’s worried, tightening his hold on the boy’s wrist. Jack lets out a shaky breath, trying to pull himself together, but the man continues in a quiet tone. It’s the longest he’s ever heard Anti speak to him and every word sounds painfully honest.

 

“I was scared of what I’d do to you... Seán, I’m not perfect. I’m so selfish to want you only to myself, but I also didn’t want to scare you away. I was trying to protect both of us. I’m begging you…” Anti purses his lips. “Whatever Felix is making you do… Don’t trust him. Come with us.”

 

Jack’s chest hurts and everyone is dead quiet. The cowboy is being so vulnerable right now. The boy could stab into his heart and Anti would let him, without a second thought. The Irishman’s lips quiver, so he bites them when swallowing. Felix won’t let them go so easily. He’ll hurt his friends if Jack dares to leave. He can’t. It’s not that simple. The brown-haired man wipes a tear away, clearing his throat, and he pulls his arm. Fingers leaving porcelain skin, a ghostly touch that will be hard to forget. His sapphire eyes shine, much like Anti’s emerald ones. They exchange a look and Jack opens his mouth, leaning in until their noses almost brush. He forces himself not to show any emotion, scowling in disgust despite his voice trembling in his throat.

 

“How can I?” he barely whispers. “If you mean nothing to me?”

 

Jack catches a glimpse of a broken face before turning his back. He passes by Tucker and Arin, staring at the ground because he can’t handle it. He’s utterly embarrassed and they must be so disappointed in him. It’s so quiet, just his feet lightly brushing against grass, and he leaves their camp with a shattered heart.

 

That time, Anti doesn’t follow him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! You may have noticed that I reduced the number of chapters. I was going to write an Epilogue still, but I've been pushing myself too hard and lately I've been... really, really exhausted. My sincere apologies for cutting a chapter, but I needed to do that. Maybe in the future, I'll write an Epilogue and just update this story so everyone would know! All I can tell you is that, right now, I can't. I really wanna take a break after this hahah. Don't get me wrong, I love this AU and I loved creating these boys in this universe!! It was just bad timing and there hasn't been a big motivation lately. Hope everyone understands!! See you next week! :')
> 
> [Abél's small speech is inspired by Alan Watts, in the song "What is Love".]() I think that whole speech from him matches Janti incredibly well and it's lovely to listen!  
> 


	13. Put Fire in My Heart, Paint Blood on My Stars

Jack stares into nothing, leaning against the saloon bannister, and all the faces downstairs are a blur. The noises are muffled, as if he’s underwater, and he has to make an effort to move every so slightly. Robin is next to him, sighing heavily, and he crosses his arms in deep thought. The Irishman couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t keep those words bottled up, anxiously avoiding his friends’ eyes while dealing with the sheriff. Jack had to tell Robin what’s been going on, especially about what he did to Anti a couple of days ago. The brown-haired man barely sleeps lately, waking up in a fright, and he checks if his doors are locked more often. Paranoia creeps up under his skin, afraid to walk into a room and see Felix ready to catch him for good. To do whatever he pleases and not letting Jack escape again. He shuts his eyes hard, pushing away these thoughts, and his friend purses his lips.

 

“You should’ve ran away with him.”

 

Robin’s words ring into his ear, making his heart ache with remorse, but he swallows the feeling. Jack shakes his head, licking his lips before speaking in a low tone of voice.

 

“I belong here, Ro… I could never escape. It was just a matter of time.”

 

“No, you don’t,” his friend murmurs, leaning against the bannister next to the boy. “Your heart is somewhere else.”

 

The brown-haired man drags a hand on his face, a headache settling in, and he’s so exhausted. Felix’s been trying to find every opportunity to grope him and Jack’s running out of excuses, much like the man is losing patience. Robin keeps muttering that they should come up with a plan, that they could help him to leave town in the night, but nothing quite reaches the boy’s ears. Jack focuses his gaze down at the saloon, seeing Marlene talking to Ethan, and he holds back a sigh. He’s certain that the woman knows what’s going on, whilst the younger brunet is aloof. Marlene and Robin have this motherhood around them, both wanting to protect Jack and Ethan so bad. He’s so grateful for them, so of course he doesn’t want to bring them harm. Everyone has suffered enough. The Irishman takes a deep breath and yet, his heart skips a beat when hearing someone shouting in the street. The saloon seems to stop, murmurs fading away, and their heads turn towards the front door with a frown.

 

Jack’s blood runs cold and his vision swims for a split second, lips parting. He straightens himself and Robin’s eyes widen, glancing at the boy. There’s another shout and the Irishman knows that voice. He knows it too well.

 

_ “Vincent Town, I’d like to have a word with you sheriff!” _

 

No.

 

No. No. No.

 

The brown-haired man quickly runs down the stairs, pushing people away until he reaches the front window, and he curses under his breath. Robin and Ethan shows up shortly after, everyone scraping their chairs against wood to see as well. Jack’s heart skips to his throat, shaking his head, and it’s drizzling outside. Anti’s standing there, in the middle of their muddy town, wearing his long black coat and hat. A cold wave of panic washes over Jack and he turns around, but Robin holds his wrist. The Swedish man asks what he’s doing, that he needs to stay inside, but Jack can’t think. He mumbles something incoherent, desperation kissing his heart, and he walks out of the saloon with a shaky breathing. Anti doesn’t notice him right away, so the brown-haired man runs towards him. He steps onto the muddy road, light rain hitting his skin, and he all but clenches his hands around the man’s coat.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” he shouts. “Go away! I told you I don’t want to see you anymore! Felix will fucking kill you!”

 

“I dare him.”

 

Jack tries pushing him back, begging for the man to go, bu Anti doesn’t budge. He’s avoiding the Irishman’s eyes and that hurts. Jack groans, calling him stupid, but stops when there’s a sound behind him. The door from the sheriff’s station opens, wood creaking, and then there’s white. Felix walks out in a calm pace and the Irishman sucks in air, going towards him with trembling legs. He looks up at the sheriff on the porch, already rambling that he can handle this, that he’ll make Anti leave town. Jack calls him  _ dear _ out of despair, trying to convince the man to ignore the cowboy’s call. The blond-haired man remains with a serene expression, but Jack’s words are cut off by a sudden slap. The Irishman gasps, turning his face from the strength, and his left cheek burns. Everything goes quiet for a few seconds, that sting throbbing, and the brown-haired man looks down at the ground with lips parted. Humiliation burns under his skin, much like that slap, and he can’t even bring himself to imagine Anti’s reaction behind him. He grimaces when Felix grabs him by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

 

“You know I don’t like it when you lie, doll...” he says. “I thought you said you got rid of him.” 

 

Jack speaks through gritted teeth, glaring. “I  _ did. _ ”

 

“Wasn’t good enough.”

 

The man in white lets go of him with a huff, murmuring to one of his men to keep him there, and Jack’s heart sinks. No. The Irishman calls for Felix, ready to follow him, but then there’s a firm grip around his arm that makes him stop. He groans, cursing under his breath at the man holding him still on the porch, and Felix walks over to Anti. The brown-haired man keeps thrashing himself but the man twists his arm to the back, ripping out a cry from him. His sapphire eyes look ahead then and there are people running back to their places. Vincent Town is dead quiet, everyone hiding and peeking through the windows, and Jack’s swallows hard. The sheriff stands in front of the cowboy, light raindrops falling from their hats, and they stare for a moment. Anti’s scowling and it’s Felix who opens his mouth first. Jack can’t hear them from there, which only makes things worse, looking back and forth. The freckled man clenches his hands into fists, standing straight, and the other seems more relaxed. Jack feels that knife against his back, thinking of what to do, and the boy winces when the man behind him tightens his grip.

 

What stands before him is his past and present.

 

What came before and after Anti.

 

It’s two sides of his life that he didn’t have control of, that he didn’t expect it to happen. Sometimes Jack wishes he met Anti before Felix crossed his path. Would things really be different? Would he fall for the cowboy just as much as he did now? Would they even try something together or would Jack keep quiet? It’s strange to have these two important people in his life standing there, no matter what they did to him. There’s a fear building up to his throat and the humid air wraps around him like a blanket, a second skin. The hair on the back of his neck rise and every heartbeat feels like an eternity, watching their lips moving. Anti’s right hand slowly touches his coat, moving it back, and Felix’s hands are on his hips. Too close from his gun. Everything feels like in slow motion, a small torture. Their glare burns like fire, not coming into terms with one another, and Jack sucks in air as their hands touch their guns. He steps forward, only to be pulled harder, but his mouth opens with a bloody scream. Bathed in agony and despair, echoing in the rain.

 

_ “NO!” _

 

Anti and Felix pull out their weapons in a blink of an eye and it’s like a thunder into his ears. He flinches, heart beating like a drum, and there are loud groans in the air. They are both still standing but something is wrong, all Jack can do is thrash himself and yell to be released. There are more shooting and heavy footsteps, making him panic even further. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. They can’t fight. He doesn’t want this. The guy tells him to stop moving and Jack knits his eyebrows. He walks backwards, the other having no choice but to follow, and they hit a wall hard with a groan. The grip on the Irishman’s arm loosens, so he acts fast to grab that knife against his back, turning around to sink it into the man’s shoulder. There’s a scream and Jack grits his teeth in rage, punching the man’s stomach to make him fall. He breathes hard through his nose, taking out the knife, and he runs to the muddy road. Rain thickens, damping his clothes, and he can’t see them anywhere. He looks around with wide eyes, shouting Anti’s name, and there’s a cry. Jack jolts at two more shots and he goes towards it, almost slipping on mud. 

 

The brown-haired man walks between houses, trying to find them, and his footsteps are the only loud thing. He tigthens his hold on that knife, another call on the tip of his tongue, but then he’s pushed onto a wall. The back of his head hits hard and Jack moans in pain, heart skipping a beat when seeing Felix. The man holds him by the shirt and he’s a goddamn wreck. The blond-haired man groans, showing his teeth, and his once white suit is now covered in blood stains. Jack lets out a shaky breath, fear clear on his face, and Felix shoves him harder. Despite everything that they’ve been through, the Irishman never saw him like that. There’s no control, the dominance he usually carries is gone. It’s like seeing his raw nature, without any kind masks to cover it. Jack’s blue eyes fall down to his body, gasping at the wounds, and Felix coughs up blood.

 

“Y-You’re gonna regret this, doll” he grunts. “I’m gonna fuckin-”

 

The Irishman cries out and then the man chokes, coming to a stop. He looks down, knitting his eyebrows when seeing Jack’s knife right into his stomach. The boy groans, tears falling from his eyes, and he pulls the weapon up just like Anti taught him. Blood streams down from Felix’s mouth and they lock their gaze, both breathing hard and seeking balance in one another. Jack twists the knife with a sob, sinking it further, and the sheriff goes slack. Those grey eyes lose that faint light and the Irishman watches him fall down onto the mud. He’s trembling like a leaf, looking at his stained hands in the rain, but a low groan calls his attention. Jack blinks raindrops away, placing the knife back where it was, and he walks towards an open field with weak knees. His lips part when seeing Anti fallen there, face down, and he runs.

 

“A-Ab… Abél…” he calls in a shaky voice, immediately dropping onto wet grass, and he turns the man around to see his face. “B-Bell?”

 

The freckled man knits his eyebrows, grunting under his breath, then relaxes. Jack’s trembling hands touch his body and his blood runs cold, seeing bullet wounds. Felix shot him on the left shoulder and down to his right side. Oh, dear god. The Irishman’s fingers are covered in blood once more and he feels nauseous. Anti’s breathing but he’s not moving, eyes closed. Jack whispers his name, patting the man’s cheek and brushing wet hair away from his face. The corners of his eyes burn with tears and he babbles, heart aching.

 

“No… No, n-no… Abél, please! P-please, don’t do this t-to me…” he sobs, lightly shaking the man’s shoulders. “You gotta g-get up, c’mon… W-Wake up, baby… Please!”

 

_ “Jack!” _

 

He turns his face to see Robin going towards them and he whimpers, asking for help. It hurts. Everything hurts. Anti is bleeding and that’s all his fault. He can’t lose the man. Not like that. Please, god. Don’t do this to him. Jack cries out and Robin calls for their friends, saying he’ll get Sunlight. Fuck! He needs to go to camp. He needs help. Vincent Town will soon see what they did and they can’t be there at all. The fucking marshal will have to come. Jack shakes the cowboy again, rain so cold on their skin, and the sky is grey like Felix’s dead eyes. Robin comes over with his mare and the Irishman has to snap out of it. He needs to carry Anti. He needs to work fast. Robin helps him, both using the cowboy’s arms for support. Anti grunts, opening his eyes for a moment, and he tries hopping on the horse as well but moaning in pain. Jack apologizes over and over, making sure he doesn’t fall, and Robin tells them to hurry. They exchange a look and his friend whispers they’ll talk again. The Irishman’s face scrunches up in emotion, getting on Sunlight.

 

Jack awkwardly grabs her reins and orders her to run, telling Anti to hold on. The man rests his forehead on the boy’s back, arms loose around his waist, and Jack shouts for him to stay awake. The cold wind hits their faces along with rain, raising mud behind them, and Sunlight runs as fast as she can. Jack’s hyperfocused, barely blinking, and the ginger-haired man leans a bit to the side. He almost falls but the Irishman uses an arm to stop him, begging for Anti to hold tighter. The man sighs on the back of his neck and Jack takes a shortcut, passing between trees and batting twigs away from them. He keeps yelling, throat so dry, and Anti is not answering anymore. Please, if there’s a god, give him time. Please. Please. Sunlight huffs heavily, her muscles dancing as she goes. Jack all but shouts when getting closer, saying Anti’s been shot, and he finally enters the camp. He keeps going until reaching the man’s tent, calling for Tucker and Jimmy so desperately.

 

When Sunlight comes to a stop, Anti’s body leans to the side to fall once more but Arin catches him. They help getting him inside and Jack follows, pushing them away to get closer. His ears ring, rain muffled outside, and they place him in bed. Jack shakes his head at them removing Anti’s clothes, mumbling it’s his job to take care of the man. He unbuttons the cowboy’s shirt midtears, not caring if people are glancing at him. Someone comes with a bowl of water and fabric, everyone talking to each other. It’s chaos and so confusing, but all Jack can focus right now is at his lover. His blue eyes are glued to Anti in bed, leaning on the floor, and he caresses the man’s wet hair. He whispers sweet nothings and apologies while Silvertongue Ashley takes care of the wounds. Anti grits his teeth in a growl when she works on removing a bullet from his shoulder and Jack grimaces.

 

It’s Tucker that touches his arm, wanting the boy to give them some room, and he clings on Anti’s hand. The long-haired man gently says it’s best to leave, even though he doesn’t want to, and Jack lets go of him with a whimper. He barely focus on walking, just letting his friend guide him. The Irishman doesn’t mind the rain when they leave the tent, but Tucker is quick to bring him to his instead. He tells Jack to sit and the boy’s shoulders fall, resting on the man’s bed. The Irishman looks down at the wooden floor, blinking slowly, and raindrops stream down his neck. A hint of pink in his hands, blood washing away. Tucker gives him some water and Jack watches how the cup shakes violently in his hold, listening to Anti’s muffled screams. He doesn’t remember drinking the water but the long-haired man takes it from him after a moment, so he must have. God, he’s exhausted. His head is throbbing and his chest hurts from a beating heart. 

 

When Tucker speaks, the words don’t make sense. He’s staring into nothing, wondering if he’s going to lose everything. Thinking about what just happened. It was too fast. Jack holds back a sigh, burying his face into his hands and leaning against his knees. The brown-haired man didn’t think Anti would come back, wanting to fight. It’s exactly what he didn’t want it to happen. How stupid of him. He doesn’t know how long it passes but Anti goes silent, only the now light drizzle kissing their ears. Jack raises his head when someone enters Tucker’s tent, but purses his lips when seeing Arin. The man sends him a sympathetic look, going towards the boy, and he murmurs that they’ll take care of the cowboy. Jack asks if he can see Anti and his friend tells him to wait, that he needs to rest. Arin points at his clothes and Tucker seeks for a spare shirt on his wooden chest. The brown-haired man knits his eyebrows and looks down a himself, noticing the blood stains on fabric. Oh. Right.

 

A thanks falls from Jack’s lips, grateful that they’re helping, and he unbuttons that dirty shirt. He gets up to take a new one from Tucker, turning around to put it on, and he can’t bring himself to care if they see his scars. Jack’s exhausted and he can’t quite wrap his head around the thought that Felix is dead. He wants to cry, that familiar sting in the corners of his eyes, but he holds back the urge. Not now, not when they’re there. Arin gives him a towel to dry his face and Jack asks if Anti is going to live. The man stares at him for a moment.

 

“Red has been through much worse,” Arin says, touching the boy’s arm in a sign of affection. “He ain’t gonna die from bullet wounds. He’d be pissed.”

 

Jack huffs with a weak smile, nodding, and the rain stops in the afternoon.

 

Crazy Maddie calls for him after that, saying that they gave Anti some medicine they had left, so he won’t be awake for a while. Jack thanks her, relieved that the man’ll be alright, and he finally can go see him. She takes him to the cowboy’s tent and the Irishman’s heart clenches at the sight, immediately walking to be by the bedside. Anti is fast asleep, wearing just his black pants. There are bandages around his ribcage and left shoulder. Jack grimaces. The freckled man’s hair is curled now and his lips are dry. Jack sighs, cupping his cheek and caressing him there. Maddie leaves them alone and the Irishman rests his forehead against the mattress, sitting on the floor. It’s there where tears fall and a choked sob fills the room. His shoulders shake, weeping, and he mumbles apologies that the cowboy will not hear.

 

When Jack’s heart calms down and he can take a deep breath without breaking into a sob, he watches the sleeping figure with red eyes. The Irishman caresses Anti’s hair, sighing, and he hates how pale the man looks. It was so terrifying. Losing Anti would hurt so fucking much, it’d be an unimaginable pain. Jack’s torn enough from fighting with the cowboy, forcing them to be apart, and now  _ this. _ He sniffs, resting a cheek on the mattress, and he stares through heavy eyelids. Anti’s chest slowly moves up and down, the only sign that he’s alive, and the boy touches his left hand, entwining their fingers. All that adrenaline from before washes away much like that rain and the quietness that comes is so welcome. A warm blanket around his soul. The next sigh that leaves his mouth is full of relief, closing his eyes, and he ends up falling asleep like that. Shapeless dreams haunt him and time slips through his fingers, floating in emotions that he can’t quite figure it out.

 

He wakes up with a sore neck, groaning, and Tucker is next to him. Jack straightens himself on the floor, grimacing at the position he slept in, and the man huffs a small laugh. The Irishman rubs his own cheek, slightly numb.

 

“Arin made stew,” Tucker says. “C’mon, it’s time for dinner.”

 

Jack shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”

 

There’s a sigh and his friend takes a look at Anti. They are all worried. The Irishman sees that in the man’s eyes. They care for Anti just as much, don’t they? Jack agrees to eat but only if he stays with the freckled man and Tucker nods. When the brown-haired man gets the food, 

he eats a little by that desk. Jack does knit his eyebrows, distracting himself by looking around, and his heart aches when seeing all those wooden pieces. He was worried that Anti threw them all away. His lips curl into a wistful smile and there’s that sketchbook the cowboy always carried with him. Jack turns his face back to check on Anti but he’s still asleep, so he pushes his bowl of food away before reaching for that book. He unties the leather around it, opening it with curiosity, and there’s a journal entry first. Anti writes about his day and how much food they still have. Money and medicine. He counts everything, making sure everyone is safe, and there are landscapes drawings from places that he’s been. Jack smiles widen, leafing through pages, and he can pinpoint the exact moment he enters Anti’s life.

 

_ May 28th. _

_ Met someone. Might see him again. Don’t know if I should. _

 

_ June 4th. _

_ I didn’t mean to scare him. _

 

_ June 15th. _

_ I looked at him in the eyes this time. Touching his skin was like pure velvet and he told me his name. There’s something different. _

 

Jack’s cheek reddens, heart fluttering with affection, and there are sketches of him in every page. The Irishman remembers that time he was lying in the saloon’s bed, watching the man draw and smoke. Anti drew it all. There are little notes like that every now and then, but it slowly just becomes  _ him. _ Jack lightly touches some drawings with affection, huffing, and there’s even the clearing sketched in charcoal. The Irishman turns another page and something falls off it, making him frown. He puts the book back on the desk, leaning down to pick up whatever it was, but then he freezes. Jack blinks, seeing that yellow daisy on the wooden floor, and his whole face scrunches up in emotion. Fuck. He takes it in his hand, looking at it, and the petals are dry from being between pages. Untouched. Jack’s eyes fill with new tears, twirling the flower in his fingers.

 

He kept it.

 

How strange it is to feel such joy in a moment like this. It’s like having a revelation. A hint of an euphoria under his skin mixed with hope. Did he ruin it? Did he fucked everything up or will Anti still want him that way? A sigh leaves Jack’s lips and he puts everything back in place, letting that daisy rest between pages again. His thoughts wander, food long forgotten, and he comes back to Anti’s side. The Irishman puts a chair next to the bed and he holds the cowboy’s hand in the night, looking at those wounds. Jimmy is the one who stops by after a while, nodding at Jack, and he murmurs that they’re slowly leaving. The brown-haired man knits his eyebrows and Jimmy chats with him in whispers. He says that, if something ever happens, Tucker is in charge of the gang. That’s how Anti set their roles. They were going to leave soon anyway, but after what happened, they want to make sure everyone moves safely since it’ll take a couple of days. Jack asks where are they going but Jimmy purses his lips.

 

“No offense, kid. I like you, alright...” he says, placing his arms on hips. “But we don’t know where you stand right now. Red didn’t really wanna talk after that fight between you two.”

 

Jimmy is right, as much as it pangs the boy’s heart. They’re protecting themselves. He nods and he’s left alone, everyone getting ready to sleep. Jack has trouble doing that, wanting to watch over the cowboy, but exhaustion from that day eventually hits him. It’s not comfortable sleeping on a chair, but he makes do, leaning back to rest his head. It’s a light sleep, stirring himself awake every now and then to glance at Anti. His neck and back hurts, so he moves down to sit on floor in the middle of the night, cheek pressed against that mattress. At least, there are no thoughts overwhelming him. He doesn’t remember for how long he actually sleeps, but there’s a touch that gently wakes him up. Jack takes a deep breath, not opening his eyes yet, and a hand caresses his hair. He forgets for a moment where he is, enjoying that feeling, but a low and hoarse voice brings him back.

 

“S-Seán.”

 

The Irishman raises his head with parted lips, wide eyes locking on emeralds, and he lets out a broken sob. He moves to sit on the mattress, hands immediately cupping the man’s cheeks, and Anti’s eyebrows are knit. He grumbles something about a throbbing pain and Jack tells him not to move. There’s a faint morning light that passes through the tent, just enough to know it’s early in a new day, and the soft sound of rain is already there. 

 

“You’re an idiot… A complete idiot, did you know that?” Jack hastily whispers, no bite in his tone of voice.

 

Anti grunts, clearing his throat before sighing. “He had t-terrible aim…”

 

The brown-haired man shushes him and the cowboy coughs, swallowing and groaning. Anti blinks at him through half-lidded eyes, both so exhausted and hurt. My god, how good it is to have him there, fully awake. Jack caresses his cheeks, face scrunching up with emotions. Anti licks his lips, gathering his bearings, and he slowly raises fingers to touch the boy’s hand. They exchange a look, no one talking for a moment, and the man sighs. He looks so beaten. Dark circles under his eyes, freckles not quite standing out as before. There’s still that unmistakable citric scent, though. That smell of rain he always seems to carry. Jack’s careful not to brush against any wound and the freckled man takes a deep breath, frowning slightly with his thoughts. He opens his mouth to speak and the Irishman’s heart stings at the words.

 

“You hurt me, angel,” he barely murmurs. “You really did…”

 

Jack’s throat threatens to close but he swallows, shaking his head before trying to explain. He finally tells the truth through a broken heart, saying he had no choice. He was protecting everyone, doing what Felix wanted. However, Anti did exactly what Jack was trying to avoid. He wasn’t expecting the cowboy to come back for a fucking duel. It was terrifying to see it all and almost losing the man. Ashley said that, if that bullet bellow his ribcage had gone an inch to the left, he would be dead. Anti was lucky and Jack’s forever grateful for the Hellbreakers helping in that moment of despair. The copper-haired man purses his lips, listening, and the boy retreats his hands. The silence that comes is heavy, like a weight tied to their hearts, pulling down. The Irishman runs a hand through his face, thinking that now a marshal will come to Vincent Town. It is a relief that Felix’s men will take orders from someone else that will have no idea what’s been going on, but it doesn’t need to be spoken out loud that Jack’s an outlaw.

 

He can’t go there, not anymore. They’d accuse him of murder. Jack can’t risk seeing Robin or the rest of his friends there so soon. They must know of this by now, of course, but he’ll try to do that some time. Right now, Jack has nowhere to go. He rests his elbows on knees, sighing, and he glances at that sketchbook on the desk.

 

“You kept the flower,” Jack reveals, looking forward. “Do you still want me?”

 

After a heartbeat, he hears shuffling. The Irishman knits his eyebrows, turning to see Anti making a motion to sit up, and he calls the man out. He places his hands over the cowboy’s chest, telling him to stay still. That he needs to heal, stitches fresh in his skin. Anti grimaces in pain but grunts, ignoring the boy’s warnings, and the Irishman sighs in defeat. The ginger-haired man manages to sit up, although leaning a bit to his right, and they’re up close. Noses almost brushing. Jack touches his waist, looking down at those bandages with faint blood, and Anti stares through long eyelashes. The Irishman waits, swallowing and fearing the worst. The things he said were hurtful. His actions were a betrayal to the man’s trust. A hand on his chin calls his attention, staring at the man.

 

“I am madly and unconditionally... in love with you,” Anti mutters and Jack’s eyes widen, heart aching. He speaks slow, hoarse voice making the boy shudder. “I didn’t think this would happen. I didn’t expect you… But I want to spend the rest of my life by your side...”

 

The Irishman lets out a shaky breath. “Y-You heard me… That day… I thought...”

 

“I will always want you, angel.”

 

Jack’s eyes burn with quiet tears, running down his cheeks, and he huffs with a smile. He shakes his head, not believing this man, and Anti wipes tears away. They rest their foreheads together and Jack holds back a sob, an overpowering love taking over his heart. Despite the in-betweens and what-ifs, they’re there. Anti chooses to be with him. He fought for Jack, ending the boy’s worst nightmare. The ginger-haired man murmurs he made a promise to always be faithful and that makes the Irishman chuckle under his breath. Jack sniffs, a calm wave washing away his worries, and Anti bumps his nose on the boy’s cheek. They both move until their lips brush and Jack heart skips a beat. Anti cups the back of the Irishman’s neck and then it’s like shooting stars under their skin. Thousands of stars burning with the sound of rain. What a symphony it is when they kiss. Jack tilts his head, tasting rough lips, and they both take a deep breath. Tears keep falling from the Irishman’s eyes, face torn with emotion, and their beards brush. Their wet lips make a sound in the room and the kiss is slow. Gentle and deep. Anti opens his mouth, moving his split tongue, and Jack’s toes curl with a moan.

 

They surrender to one another and they match their hunger with each kiss. The cowboy’s nostrils flare and Jack caresses his curls. He’s a dying man crawling in a desert, thirsty to have the sweetest nectar that is Anti’s lips. Whenever they think it’s over, they start again. Jack pulls back just enough to look at those gorgeous eyes and their lips are pink. Cheeks flushed. Anti breathes into his mouth and the brown-haired man gently pushes him to lie down, a brief coherent thought. Anti does so and the boy looms over him, both easily finding their way again. The man brushes his lips down the Irishman’s neck and they sigh in pleasure. Jack cups his face to taste more of him and Anti’s small whimper is the only melody he wants to hear. Jack’s heart clenches, overwhelmed with joy, and the freckled man sucks on his bottom lip. They don’t bother with time, trapped in their own infinity. There’s only the sound of light rain and hungry lips. It’s almost profane to stop for a moment, catching their breaths.

 

“Come with us,” Anti drawled. “Stay with me.”

 

He blinks, eyelashes batting against porcelain skin, and he brushes their lips together one more time. A light peck. He thinks about everything that happened. The first time they met, so different from what they are now. That fear and doubt from before long gone. Jack had no idea that he’d be in the man’s arms and that they would kill someone together. Someone that was once so terrible to him. He’s free from the past. He didn’t think Anti would want them to runaway. How odd and yet wonderful life can be. The Irishman gazes at him for a moment, fingers gently touching the edge of a bandage on his shoulder. Anti waits, breathing calmly, and he caresses the boy’s cheek. Wiping away a last fallen tear. Jack licks his lips, that taste like the sweetest nectar, and he knows exactly what he has to say.

 

“Just show me the way, cowboy.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone that's been through this story! Thank you for all the comments and kudos, it truly means a lot. I'm not gonna lie... It got really stressful halfway through writing this but I'm really happy that I finished it! Feedback in general changed in these past few months and I frankly had a hard time finding motivation. I think everyone is feeling that, to be honest... That said, I'll be taking a break! I'll still be writing on my own time and I do have tons of ideas!! But I won't be posting something so soon, maybe in a few months. I need some time, but I won't be gone forever hahah. Everyone is always welcome to talk to me on tumblr and we can discuss whatever!! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you once again!! See you next time! :D
> 
> [Stars by Sam Airey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pKGbdv0SzY) is an amazing song that I kept listening while writing this last chapter. It's on their playlist but I'm leaving a link here!! I recommend!  
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/marvelsoo/playlist/6DF8LwEMTwM7uGD3t12AHt?si=x8l5gJWtTjKTvujUJ_aitg)  
> [Storyboard](https://pinterest.com/sparklepines/of-burning-stars-on-emerald-rain/)  
> [My tumblr](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/)  
> [If you like what I do, feel free to show me some support! Buy me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)  
> 


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